


In Service of the King

by FuryRed, pinkoptics



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Dubious Consent, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Porn With Plot, Possessive Erik, Shameless Smut, to see if this flavour of dub-con is for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkoptics/pseuds/pinkoptics
Summary: The people of Britannia have been saved from an unbearable fate at the hands of Emperor Shaw. In order to express their immense gratitude, they offer the ultimate tribute- Charles Xavier, the beloved son of their leader.Far from naive, and even before agreeing to be made a gift, Charles is only too aware of what such an arrangement will entail- a life spent on his knees for more reasons than one... But upon arriving on Genosha’s shores, it soon becomes clear that sexual submission may not be all that is desired of Charles, and that King Erik may have some notions of how he wishes to be serviced that are not at all what Charles expected...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Within the context of this medieval au, it is considered an accepted custom for a King (or Queen) to take a sexual companion (concubine, whore, whatever word you prefer). Charles enters this arrangement willingly and voluntarily and as such we’ve tagged it ‘dub-con.’ The morality of this arrangement is questioned and though it is Charles’ choice, he does not feel it is right.
> 
> This fic came about because pinkoptics was inspired to write a bit of fantasy on account of a certain [gifset on tumblr](https://pinkoptics.tumblr.com/post/174027950030/tedystaleva-the-prince-and-his-king-coming) and felt a need to share that inspiration with FuryRed. Not one to be left out of the smutty fun, Fury joined in and a co-authoring venture began. It started out as pure PWP, but then a whole lot of plot grew up around a whole lot of porn and In Service of the King was born.
> 
> Enjoy.

The curtains surrounding the bed fluttered; moved by some unseen, barely felt, draft. Behind those curtains lay the man who Charles now belonged to- his new King.

Charles was a token; a gift from his people to their saviour. King Erik had saved them all from subjugation at the hands of Emperor Shaw. Saved them from enduring a life, perhaps lifetimes, of hardship. For Shaw, Charles’ tiny nation would have served as little more than a cache of slaves for him and his people to use and abuse as they saw fit. The King of Genosha had protected them, fought off Shaw, and earned their undying fealty. Since the victory, Charles’ people had shown their gratitude by showering the King with gifts - the farmers gave the best of their crops, the merchants the best of the wares, the artists the best of their works. The finest things their people had to offer now belonged to the King.

This included Charles.

Their island had no royalty, only a first family, and Charles was their first son- considered beautiful and intelligent; the best they could possibly offer. The greatest symbol of their allegiance would be for their First Son to submit himself to the King. Whatever King Erik wanted, Charles was there to give it. He had very few illusions as to what that might be.

He would submit willingly, wantonly, earnestly. Without question, or consideration of disobedience. He would give himself to King Erik completely and would submit unto his King, regardless of what Erik desired. He had to. His people deserved that from him and more- for their safety, their secure future, under the King’s protection.

The air was warm but Charles shivered, tense with breathless anticipation as he entered the room and stepped over towards the curtain. The room was large and dimly lit with candles, faintly illuminated by a pale moon that shone through a nearby window, casting the scene in an ethereal glow that made Charles feel like he was dreaming. It wasn’t a dream though. The way Charles’ heart thudded and his palms grew clammy was evidence enough of that.

As Charles approached he did so cautiously, like he was waiting for movement- waiting for someone to step forward and announce themselves; to claim, to take, to own. But there was nothing. Charles could tell he wasn’t alone though. Not just from the shadow he could see on the other side of the gauzy curtain, but from the tension he felt in the air- like he was being hunted, like he was prey. Charles was being watched, he was sure of it, and the realisation made him wipe his hands nervously against the material of his trousers, the delicate metal cuffs that spanned his wrists catching on the fabric as he did so.

He had been prepared for the King. A gaggle of servants had stripped him bare, scrubbed him down, shaved him, groomed him... Though they had treated him well, like a precious object to be handled with care, the whole process had been one of abject humiliation. Each of their movements solidified his new reality. Charles was no longer his own person- how he looked and how he dressed would suit the King’s taste, his desires, his pleasure.

Charles’ old clothing was gone too, discarded for a loose pair of trousers in a fine, soft material. They had left his chest bare but anointed him with perfume and oils, as one would a sacrifice to the gods. The final touch had been the metal cuffs around his wrists. Even in his current situation, Charles could not help but admit they were beautiful. Several metals of different colors intertwined into an intricate geometric pattern. They were so fine that even their purpose could not diminish their inherent beauty...

The King’s mutation was no secret. If Charles did not obey, the King would force his submission. This was, however, unnecessary. Charles had not been coerced, there were no threats of violence hanging over his head. It did not matter if each day from here on out killed a small piece of his soul, he would kneel; for every person back home he would kneel.

Charles continued his path towards the curtain and still the King said nothing, did nothing. There remained only a few more steps until Charles would be close enough to brush aside the translucent material and really see what was behind it. This was it, the crossing point between his old life and his new one- between being Charles, the First Son of Britannia, and being the King’s plaything. So many emotions flew through him in that small space of time that suddenly, horribly, Charles felt his head spin, and he worried for a moment that he might be about to be sick all over the thick rug of the King’s bedroom floor.

 _“Pull yourself together!”_ Charles chided himself, pulling in a deep cleansing breath. The mental command was grounding, but only served as a further reminder of the new reality of Charles’ life. One of the numerous ugly things he would have to get used to was hearing only his own voice in his head for some time to come.

It was a necessary sacrifice, but one of many that Charles was willing to make. Charles was a telepath, a remarkably powerful one, but whilst he thought of his mutation as an essential part of his very being, prior to entering the King’s quarters Charles had taken it upon himself to shut his psychic ability down. The resulting sensation left Charles feeling unbalanced and uneasy- like he was no longer whole- but it was what needed to happen. Charles had no desire to pick up on any of King Erik’s thoughts and feelings, particularly when engaged in any of the intimacies that were surely to follow. It was one thing for Charles to submit to the King- to give his body willingly- but he could not, would not, give his soul.

Charles lifted his chin, fists balled tight as he took the few remaining steps toward the bed with a stride that appeared infinitely more confident than he felt. When his fingers met the delicate gauze it felt every bit as soft and luxurious as it looked. Charles willed his hands not to tremble as he grasped at the opening- taking another deep, steadying breath before parting the curtains at last.

And, there he was.

The King.

The bed. Cavernous. The King. Reclining. The sheets. Luxurious. The candlelight. Flickering.

The things he’d do here. The things that would be _done to him_.

Behind Charles the gauzy curtains fell back into place, the soft material brushing across Charles’ back and reminding him that the space inside these curtains was where he now belonged. For all Charles knew the King might choose to keep him here- in this bed- for the rest of his life. Everything whirled and blurred. The scene was a hazy, bleary vision in front of Charles’ eyes as his heart began to pound and his legs grew weak with every step he took towards the bed.

“Stop.”

Although the command from King Erik was clear, Charles did not immediately cease moving. He was so sure the King would want him to join him in bed, and was so committed to his fate, that he didn’t think to stop. But then, the sleek metal cuffs adorning Charles’ wrists tightened with such swift sharpness that it stole his breath from him. The brief flicker of pain that shot up each arm did the job, and in an instant he was grounded, back, ready. Then the metal loosened enough to be comfortable and Charles was able to breathe again.

And so he stood, waiting...

The King was centered in the large bed, leaning back against the headboard, one knee raised in what should have been a casual posture, but there was nothing casual about him or the way he looked at Charles. His eyes roved over every inch of Charles he could see- dark and appraising and unmistakably lustful. The assessment made Charles involuntarily shiver, made him want to cover himself, to shrink back, but he held his ground and pinned his hands to his sides. The King had every right to look, to see, to know what was his. When he was finished, he locked eyes with Charles.

“Come here.” 

To say the King’s voice was commanding would not have done it justice. It was the speech of someone who knew with absolute certainty that they would be obeyed; a low, lightly-accented tone that challenged the person addressed to dare oppose him. The surety made Charles’ stomach coil, both wanting to comply and wanting to run- out of the room, out of the castle, for his life.

Charles’ hands jerked forward suddenly, completely of their own accord, dragging unwilling feet behind them until Charles tumbled helplessly onto the bed, until he was sprawled awkwardly on his stomach across the clean, white linen.

“I said, _come here._ ”

This time, Charles scrambled, finding himself on his hands and knees, needing to crawl the remaining distance between himself and the King- the bed was simply that big. It was ridiculous for a grown man to crawl toward another, but he did it, one hand and one knee at a time, until he was close enough to the King to touch. But he didn’t. Instead, Charles sat back on his feet, hands crossed behind his back and looked down at his knees in subjugation, waiting, waiting...

“Look at me.”

Though it pained him to do so, Charles lifted his eyes from the relative safety of his knees and looked at the King, finding the intensity of his gaze to be as electrifying as it was terrifying.

“You are mine.”

A lump rose in Charles’ throat at those words, but he forced himself to nod in acquiescence.

The King, however, shook his head. “No. You will say it. You will look at me and you will say it.”

Charles swallowed “I-- I am yours.”

A small, satisfied smile played across Erik’s lips as he reached up and trailed the fingers of one hand down the line of Charles’ jaw. Charles let his eyes drop, the touch and the ardor of the King’s gaze proving to be too much, and the gentle caress immediately turned into a hard grip on his chin- forcing it up and forward, so that he was compelled to meet the King’s eyes once more.

“No. You will _always_ look at me. You will not look down like some common whore. If I had wanted nothing but a whore, nothing but a hole to fill, I could have selected any man or woman from the street for a mindless fuck. You belong to me, but you are still the First Son of Britannia, and you shall continue to present yourself as such- whether you are outside in the castle or in this bedroom with me. Never forget who you are, Charles. I won’t.”

Charles would not have thought it possible to be thrown further off balance, but instantly confusion twisted his thoughts and feelings into further disarray. What was he supposed to make of any of that? He was here for the King’s pleasure, was he not? To service the King’s needs in any of a million different ways? Did that not make him the royal whore?

Erik jerked harshly on his chin again, his intense stare unwavering and clearly expecting a response. In the end, it did not matter what Erik meant or how confused Charles was by his words. Charles was not to question, he was here for one thing alone- to obey.

“I will not forget,” Charles replied, forcing the tone of his voice to be strong and certain. He realised then how keenly he wanted to- because wouldn’t all of this be easier if he could just forget who he was? Leave his old life behind entirely? It would save him from thinking about his home, his family, his sister- thoughts that made him want to curl up on the bed quietly and go to sleep, not lay himself out on the mattress to be fucked.

“Good.” The King released his bruising grip on Charles’ chin and his hand dropped to rest on Charles’ shoulder. “Now- come here.”

The same command as before, the same compelling strength to his voice, but where else was there to go? Charles was already on his knees before him, clearly near enough to be touched as Erik continued to grasp his shoulder firmly. Tendrils of anxiety made Charles’ hands twist as he considered the instruction.

“I do not mean to disobey...” Charles replied slowly, embarrassment mixing with his anxiety, making him feel warm all over and flustered. It was difficult trying to just listen to speech without using telepathy to pick up on the thoughts behind it, like Charles had always done. Inner mentality was like another language- one Charles was fluent in- but now, faced with just Erik’s uncompromising words alone, Charles was left feeling in need of translation.

Charles knew his duty, knew he needed to be good at this- to please- he just didn’t know how.

“I confess I do not know what you mean,” Charles said eventually, hoping his expression and words were contrite and yielding, and that Erik would not be annoyed by his confusion.

After that, there were a series of quick movements that Charles was in no way prepared for. The metal cuffs tugged forward once more, Charles found himself on the verge of flopping unceremoniously over the King, and then Erik’s strong hands caught Charles by the hips and lifted him up and over until he was straddling the King’s lap.      

 _Oh_.

Charles’ whole body stiffened as he became simultaneously aware of two things.

The hard muscle of the King’s chest beneath his shirt as Charles placed clammy palms there to steady himself, and the hard line of the King’s cock pressed intimately against him.

Oh God.

The flustered heat that had already begun to steal over Charles increased tenfold and his body tried to betray every directive his mind was desperately giving it to obey. His hips made a futile attempt to squirm away from the impressive length beneath them, but the King continued to hold him firmly by those same hips and there was nowhere to go.

A low, appreciative, chuckle emitted from Erik’s throat. “That’s nice, Charles. Normally, I would not encourage you to attempt escape but, please, by all means, keep going.”

Charles’ traitorous hips stilled instantly. Of course, God, what was he thinking, _squirming_ in the King’s lap? Charles’ embarrassment managed to ramp up several notches further. He could not imagine how he must look, how flushed his skin must be at this point. He wanted so badly to look away, to hide his face, but only moments ago the King had ordered that he must always look at him. In that moment, it felt like one of the hardest things that Charles had ever done.

Erik seemed to realize it. “That’s good, Charles. You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you? So obedient for your King...”

Erik released Charles’ hips and let his hands slide slowly up the bare skin of Charles’ stomach and chest, and Charles’ breathing stopped as rough, calloused fingers explored his flesh.

“Just look at you, so beautiful, such a gorgeous gift. All of this is mine...” Erik murmured, his hands continuing to trail and only stopping when they reached Charles’ face, holding it between both hands in a gesture that might have looked tender to an outside observer, but the tight constriction of it belied any tenderness. Charles was being claimed, and he wasn’t sure what showed more intent- the hold of Erik’s hands or the press of his evident erection against Charles’ body.

“All of you is mine.”

The grip on Charles’ jaw tightened a fraction further.

“Yes,” Charles forced out. “I am yours, my King.”

At that, Erik’s hold loosened- just slightly- and the thumb of one of Erik’s hands slid over to Charles’ mouth, dragging across his plump bottom lip as Erik said: “Then show me, Charles. Kiss your King”.

If Charles had not already been holding his body rigid, the shock of this request would have done it for him. Of all the things Charles had thought the King might want first, a kiss had not been one of them. Charles’ already-thudding pulse quickened as he thought of what such an act appeared to symbolise- pressing their mouths together before anything else, as if they were lovers instead of… of whatever the hell they were.

The pressure of Erik’s hands on his face became bruising once more and Charles knew he was delaying too long, but the King did not drag him forward or pull on the metal of the cuffs. Charles’ whole purpose now was to comply- not to be forced, but to submit. Willingly. To say he was the King’s was all well and good, but words were one thing and actions quite another. Erik was waiting for Charles to demonstrate his readiness to surrender his will.

Charles had agreed to this. Britannia owed this man everything. Charles had sworn an oath to protect his people by any means necessary.

This was the means.

Charles allowed himself one steadying breath before leaning forward. His hands slid up so that they now rested on the King’s broad shoulders, forearms pressed against the hard planes of muscle at Erik’s chest. Charles maintained eye contact until it became difficult to do so, eyelids fluttering closed as he continued to lean, blindly, towards his King. The time it took to close the small gap between them felt like nothing short of an eternity, and then- finally- when it seemed certain Charles had misjudged the distance, his lips touched Erik’s.

The contact instantly disconcerted him. How did you kiss without feeling? Without need? Without desire? The mechanics of the whole thing suddenly eluded Charles, as if he had never kissed anyone before today. But Charles did not have to wait long to be reminded. With this small gesture of obedience seemingly enough, the King took control.

The kiss was uncompromising, just like the King himself. Erik’s lips were as hard and demanding as his stare, moving roughly over Charles’ mouth as Charles kept still in response, until Erik’s tongue pressed forward and Charles’ quiet whimper was muffled as he willingly slackened his jaw and opened his mouth in subjugation.

With permission granted, the King explored every inch of what was now his. Charles was held still and owned- motionless in Erik’s lap as the King’s hands slid lower down, grasping Charles’ buttocks and angling Charles so that he was firmly pressed against the line of the King’s hard cock. Charles couldn’t help but let out another whimper at that. The sound was once again swallowed by Erik’s mouth before he gave out an appreciative chuckle in response and used his hold to gently rock Charles’ body back and forth to stimulate himself, whilst his tongue continued to claim every part of Charles’ mouth and, in turn, him.

When Erik was finished he pulled back, and his gaze focused on Charles’ mouth as Charles involuntarily ran his tongue over his lower lip, like he was still tasting Erik’s kiss...

“So red...” Erik murmured in a voice heavy with appreciation.

When Erik’s eyes met Charles’ gaze again, Charles could see that the King’s pupils were blown wide. Charles’ breath caught. He knew what had to be coming next. He would be commanded to undress, to lay back on the bed, to spread his legs, to--

“Go and stand at the foot of the bed.”

It took several moments for the directive to sink into Charles’ spiralling mind. The _foot_ of the bed? Erik wanted him _to leave_ the bed? What? Why?

“Charles…”

“Yes, my King,” Charles replied quickly, partially grateful at being granted permission to move away from Erik, even though his thoughts whirled as he considered what might be coming next.

Charles scrambled off of Erik’s lap- not missing the way Erik groaned softly as the pressure of Charles’ body against his crotch abated- and crawled down the length of the large bed, trying not to think of the completely undignified image he was presenting. Charles could _feel_ the heat of Erik’s gaze on his backside, and it told him that the King was not done with him for the night. The only question was, just what did Erik want now?

As Charles clambered off the bed he considered parting the curtains in front of him and stepping out further into the bedroom, but Charles didn’t even hope to presume that what Erik might want was for the two of them to go sit down in front of the fire and play chess, or something equally innocuous. So, Charles stopped at the foot of the bed, stared at the soft material in front of him and the blurry outline of the room on the other side, and listened as Erik moved behind him.

“Turn around.”

At Erik’s words, Charles immediately tensed. It was worse somehow that Erik wanted to look at him all the time, wanted Charles to always meet his eyes, and Charles couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous his life had become when the idea of being pushed to the ground and taken from behind seemed preferable to eye contact.

But still, in spite of his trepidation, Charles turned. As he moved back around to face Erik, he found that the King was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at Charles. Erik gazed at Charles for a long moment, eyes trailing down Charles’ body, accompanied by a sensation from the metal cuffs on Charles’ wrists, as though Erik was using his mutation to brush ghostly fingers across the delicate skin underneath the metal, and then Erik began to move.

Without further comment the King stood up- taking a step closer to Charles and reaching one hand to grasp Charles’ neck firmly. His hand was warm and certain, a solid strength that made Charles very, very aware of his place. With Erik upright, Charles noted their difference in height- how the King was several inches taller than him, and how imposing Erik seemed- not just from his stature, but from his overall presence and the commanding look in his eyes. Charles did his best to keep his gaze focused on Erik’s face, like he’d been told, but then the King spoke again, and Charles found himself hesitating.

“Kneel.”

Charles’ gut twisted, mouth gaping slightly as he stared up at Erik. This wasn’t what Charles had expected. Certainly, he knew his body was the King’s for the taking- in whatever manner Erik wanted it- and that certain duties would undoubtedly be required of him. Mentally, Charles had prepared himself for what he was sure the first duty would be. He had played out in his mind every way he thought it might go. Every touch, every position- rough to gentle, painful to considerate; carefully desensitizing himself as much as one could hope to. However, nothing that had happened so far had been what Charles had predicted, and there was a very real difference between being penetrated and what Charles believed the King was leading towards. Charles knew that this kind of act- particularly with a man so intense and demanding and who commanded Charles to always meet his eyes- was likely to be incredibly, perhaps _unbearably_ intimate.

Charles still didn’t move, and the hand on the back of his neck grew more firm. Erik slid his fingers up to fist in Charles’ hair as he held tight and said, “Did you not understand the command? Do you not belong to me now? Do you not want to kneel for your King?”

With his mind on his duty, his people, his necessary sacrifice Charles drew in a shaky breath and began to bend down- dropping to his knees on the plush carpet, one fleeting thought spared for that small mercy. He was now eye-level with Erik’s crotch, his hands folded in his lap and his head bowed as was the proper manner when kneeling before a King, but he should have known that this obeisance would not be what Erik really wanted.

“Charles, look at me,” Erik commanded, his hand still holding onto Charles firmly.

After a brief tug on his hair Charles assented, and he lifted his head to regard Erik staring down at him- unwavering eyes focused on Charles’ face. There was a long pause- time in which Charles just stared up at his new King and contemplated all the things he would have to do in his new life- and then Erik let go of Charles’ hair and instead grasped the bottom of his own shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, before casting the garment aside.

Immediately, Charles’ gaze began to wander helplessly, taking in the firm lines of Erik’s body- the body that he now belonged to, the body he would worship and obey and service, without question. Charles’ eyes roamed over broad shoulders, strong arms that looked capable of exerting untold amounts of power, and a muscular chest littered with the telltale marks of battle. This was not a King who sat back and let his generals do the fighting for him. Charles could only see half of Erik’s body, and already he had to respect the strength before him. The hard planes of Erik’s chest narrowed to an improbably slim waist and flat stomach, slashed all the way across by a prominent scar that spoke of tenacity and survival.

When Charles’ eyes finally dropped even lower, he felt his heart rate increase emphatically and his mouth dry as his attention was stolen- distracted and captivated by the visible outline of Erik’s hard cock, barely constrained by the material of his trousers. It pressed obscenely against the ties holding up his pants, tenting them out toward Charles’ mouth like an unwanted invitation. Ridiculously, this, right here, was to become the focal point of Charles’ life, so it seemed apt that he was already on his knees for it.

“Undress me.”

Charles was learning quickly not to delay his obedience, and so it was only a moment of hesitation before he reached forward- fingers fumbling with the laces that fastened the front of Erik’s trousers as he began to untie them- struggling with the tight knots and contemplating undoing them with his teeth before he realised how suggestive a gesture that would have been.

It wasn’t long until Erik’s hand was back in Charles’ hair, again forcing his gaze upwards. At every turn, Erik insisted on him being present. Charles had banked on lying back, closing his eyes and going elsewhere, but he could tell, now, that Erik would not allow it. He would be here, in each moment, with him.

Charles’ grasp grew even more clumsy and uncertain as he blindly palmed against Erik’s trousers and the firm, hard length hidden beneath them- both desperate to finish unlacing the trousers like he was told and trembling in anticipation of what was surely to follow.

When the laces were untied Charles recognised his duty even without further instruction, he seized the coarse material of the trousers with both hands and pulled them down, leaning back as Erik shifted to assist as the trousers fell to the floor and he stepped out of them.

In that moment, Charles couldn’t stop his gaze from shifting- drawn to the imposing sight of Erik’s visible erection, evident through the material of his undergarments and pushing against the thin, white cotton like it was desperate to be coaxed. There was a soft chuckle from Erik in response as Charles stared helplessly, and then the next command followed: “Put your mouth on me”. 

Charles’ head whipped upwards, finding Erik watching as he always seemed to- lust and desire and hunger evident in his heavily-dilated eyes. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he ran his fingers through Charles’ hair almost gently, before seizing it tight and pulling Charles forward to ensure compliance.

The slight whimper that Charles was making was abruptly cut off as his lips were pressed to the thick length of Erik’s cock over his underwear, and Erik groaned quietly from little more than the briefest contact of Charles’ mouth- not even skin to skin, but still close to sin.

“More…” Erik groaned, voice low and deep with arousal. “Open your mouth. Use your tongue.”

Erik’s firm grip in Charles’ hair was a constant reminder of his obligation, keeping Charles in place as he tentatively opened his mouth and pressed his tongue out- eliciting a rough moan from Erik and a reflexive buck of his hips; his grasp on Charles’ hair growing tighter in his pleasure. Charles pressed his hands against the warm skin of Erik’s thighs to steady himself as Erik pushed towards Charles’ parted lips, leaving Charles able to do little more than mouth uncertainly against the head of Erik’s cock through his underwear, leaving the material damp with saliva and pre-come.

The noises Erik was making in his pleasure were low and layered with a deep stain of arousal, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder if this might be it- if Erik was going to get off just from this, leaving Charles relatively uncompromised in return. But at the same time, Charles was intelligent enough to understand that those kind of thoughts were naive at best, and he wasn’t foolish enough to cling on to such hopes.

“You’re mine…” Erik murmured, cock twitching under Charles’ tongue and pushing against the damp cotton- a hot, heavy weight against Charles’ mouth just scarcely slipping past his lips with each impulsive buck of Erik’s hips.

“Charles, look at me…” Erik added, and Charles forced his eyes upwards, feeling dirty and vulnerable and completely powerless as Erik smiled and pushed his cock more firmly against Charles’ mouth, the material grazing across Charles’ lips accompanied by the heat of Erik’s member underneath. Erik kept Charles like that for a moment, brushing himself against Charles’ open mouth, before eventually he withdrew- keeping his hold on Charles’ hair as he gave Charles a pleased glance and quietly instructed, “Finish undressing me…”

Although Charles trembled he kept his gaze upwards as he slid his hands to grasp Erik’s underwear- hooking his fingers into the front of the material and taking an unsteady breath before he pulled the garment downwards.

Instantly, Charles wished he’d moved a little bit further away, as without underwear to constrain it Erik’s imposing erection was freed and Charles impulsively tried to lean back, but found himself prevented from moving by Erik’s hand still holding his hair. In the end, he was kept in place, captive and claimed, mouth centimetres away from the head of Erik’s cock, just staring at the hard length and watching the way it responded to each surge of Charles’ warm breath against the sensitive skin.

As he remained on his knees Charles found himself somewhere past surreal. Was this him, here, now, about to take the King’s cock into his mouth and cement his role as the King’s- what? Courtesan? Concubine? Whore? Erik had made sure to tell Charles that he was none of those things, which meant what? That Charles was in an even stranger position- one he was at a loss to define- but very real intimacy with someone he’d only just met.

For a while Charles was transfixed- stunned by the clear reminder of his new life in front of his eyes and strangely lulled by the feeling of Erik gently stroking his hair. He only realised Erik had addressed him when Erik’s hold became more firm and he transferred his hand to grasp Charles’ chin with his thumb and forefinger- tilting Charles’ head upwards.

“Look at you, Charles- so beautiful, so hübsch… Are you going to be good for me, Liebling? Are you going to serve your King?”

Charles stared at Erik mutely, still thinking about the sizeable length in his periphery that he was about to become very acquainted with. But though the situation was still so strange and so unsettling, Charles knew he had an obligation to the people he had left behind, and his need to keep them safe cancelled out any fears he may have had.

“Yes… my King,” Charles replied quietly.

Clearly, it was the answer that Erik wanted, as his expression slipped into a satisfied grin as he gazed down at Charles- thumb rubbing against Charles’ chin for a moment before advancing up to gently brush against his plump bottom lip.

“Good… That’s good, Charles. Now… open your mouth for me.”

“I--” Charles started, without prior thought, but there was no end to the sentence. ‘I’ what? I can’t? I don’t want to? I want to go home? Uttering any of those sentences would have been pointless and Charles knew it, so he said nothing, and kept his eyes focused on Erik’s face as instructed. Erik stepped closer, bringing his cock close to Charles’ mouth and brushing the head against Charles’ lips, until Charles opened up and allowed him to push inside.

At the first touch of Erik’s cock to Charles’ tongue, Charles instantly closed his eyes- hands flying up to press against Erik’s thighs out of some instinctual need to withdraw. Before Erik had even said anything Charles knew he had disappointed his King, and he shuddered at the thought of what form the King’s disappointment might take.

There was a low hum of disapproval from Erik and he withdrew his cock again so that it was once more braced against Charles’ lips. At the same time, he seized Charles’ hair more firmly so that Charles squirmed under his touch.

“Charles- no. Look at me,” Erik commanded.

Mentally, Charles chastised and berated himself. No matter how much he had reminded himself of his duty- of the necessity of all of this- and had prepared himself for it, the crucial moment had come and he still did not possess the strength to endure it as the King wanted. Charles was bracing himself for the manifestation of Erik’s annoyance- expecting perhaps the metal cuffs on his wrists to tighten uncomfortably until Charles obeyed, but instead there was something else- something Charles had not foreseen. Erik’s hand no longer gripped Charles’ hair tightly, but instead touched Charles’ face, fingers trailing along Charles’ jawline slowly, carefully, as if to encourage.

When Charles opened his eyes Erik was looking down at him still, the expression on his face thoughtful instead of downright lustful for once. He continued to caress Charles’ jaw for a moment- a benign gesture that came as a complete contrast to the hard cock still brushing against Charles’ lips- and then Erik spoke again.

“Charles, you do not need to be afraid of me. I am not a monster and I have no desire to hurt you unless you force my hand with outright disobedience, but you will not hide from me and you will give yourself to me completely. In return, you need never fear me. You _will_ honour and obey your King. Do you understand me?”

Well, this was what Charles was here for, and deep down he knew that Erik was right- he knew that, whilst the King’s reputation may have been of someone who was ruthless, determined, and unyielding, he was not cruel. Charles wasn’t in any real danger and the only way to continue to ensure his safety, and that of Britannia, was to yield.

By way of response, Charles opened his mouth wide in invitation- continuing to keep his eyes focused on Erik’s face as Erik smiled contentedly and began to slide his cock inside once more. This time Charles didn’t look away, not even when the head of Erik’s cock brushed against the back of his throat and Charles almost gagged around the length before he remembered to relax.

“Good, Charles…” Erik murmured, pulling out so just the top couple of inches of his cock quivered in Charles’ open mouth. “You’re so good…”

For all that Erik had been stern and commanding throughout the course of the evening, he was true to his assurance that he wouldn’t hurt Charles. He rocked into Charles’ mouth in steady motions, occasionally pushing deep so that his cock just started to slide down Charles’ throat, but always withdrawing at the first sign of a moaned protest from Charles and allowing him time to recover. Charles held onto Erik’s legs as Erik thrust forward, sweaty palms pressed against Erik’s warm thighs but not pushing him away, just bracing himself against Erik’s motions, counteracted by Erik’s hands cradling the back of Charles’ head.

Erik continued to gaze down at Charles as he fucked his mouth, evidently pleased by what he saw, and amongst the lingering looks there were continual filthy-voiced words of encouragement from Erik, until Erik’s speech became rather more sparse and interspersed with heady moans. Charles watched as the muscles of Erik’s stomach begin to tighten and he conducted a final, few shaky thrusts, before he stopped- still with the head of his member just placed inside Charles’ mouth- and used his hand to stroke himself to completion, until his cock pulsed into Charles’ mouth as Erik groaned in pleasure.

Without being told, Charles knew to stay still, to look at Erik, to keep his mouth open wide so that Erik could watch as his come spilled onto Charles’ tongue, to not pull away, to allow Erik to slide his cock back inside fully a further few times, to let Erik cradle Charles’ head and rock slowly into his mouth until he was completely satisfied. When he was done Erik finally withdrew, stepping back from Charles but continuing to gaze down at him, smiling, until eventually he bent down to Charles’ level and placed a single, sincere kiss to Charles’ forehead.

“Perfect…” Erik said softly. “You’re perfect…”

The words, meant to encourage, only made Charles feel more imbalanced than previously. He had performed his duty. He had serviced his King. His King was pleased. Was this not what Charles wanted to happen? But the idea of a hundred different intimacies ahead, each one of them punctuated by Erik praising him like a good little pet, made Charles feel almost inhuman.

Charles was still considering his new status as Erik stepped away- reaching down and swiftly pulling his underwear back up to cover his gradually softening cock. Charles watched, mouth parting slightly in an unspoken question, and when Erik said, “Come to bed, Charles,” Charles couldn’t help but speak rather than obey.

“But I thought…”

Erik smiled, the expression half-affectionate and half-predatory. “I’m not finished with you, Charles, but we have all the time in the world for that- the rest of our lives, in fact... I really see no need to rush things now. So, do what your King commands- come to bed.”

At that, Erik turned away- walking over to the side of the bed in a few easy steps and drawing back the silk sheets. The bed was adorned with dozens of intricate pillows and cushions, and Erik casually threw a few of them aside before sliding beneath the covers and settling down.

“Charles, I won’t tell you again,” Erik cautioned, the metal cuffs on Charles’ wrists flexing just once to accompany the warning.

Charles didn’t need to be told a further time. He stood back up and wandered over to the bed- to _his side_ of the bed- and grasped the luxurious sheets as he prepared to slip beneath them.

“Trousers off, Charles, but you can keep your underwear on- this time…”

Charles flushed at that, fingers trembling just slightly at the promise of Erik’s words as he quickly unlaced his trousers, ignoring the way he could feel Erik watching in interest. As soon as Charles slid his trousers down, he instantly wished he was wearing something with more coverage than the insubstantial undergarments he had been dressed in before he was sent to Erik. The fabric clung to his upper thighs and intimate areas leaving very little to the imagination, particularly as the rear half of the garment was made of a sheer fabric, leaving Charles’ buttocks visible beneath the translucent material.

Of course, Erik didn’t need to know that yet… Charles made sure to keep his backside turned away from Erik as he swiftly slipped beneath the covers and shifted against the mattress, grasping one of the plush pillows beside him and holding it to his chest like a shield.

“Really?” Erik laughed. “You must know I’m not going to allow that, Charles. Put the pillow down and come here.”

Charles looked over at Erik with wide eyes, before eventually placing the pillow back where he found it and squirming closer on the mattress. As soon as he was near enough Erik reached out to him- sliding his arms around Charles and pulling him closer, until Charles lay pressed against Erik’s side, one arm stretched across Erik’s chest with Erik’s fingers curled around the cuff on Charles’ wrist. It was as unbelievably intimate and unexpected as everything else that had transpired that evening. Nothing had gone the way Charles had thought it would.

Charles must have imagined this night a million times since he had agreed to offer himself to the King of Genosha. He had anticipated being presented naked and adorned, but had been allowed to retain the dignity of trousers. He had expected to be fucked, and he had been, in a way- the taste of Erik lingered on his tongue, the feel of him still a faint impression in his mouth. However, he knew it could have been much worse. If Shaw had succeeded in conquering Britannia he knew, without doubt, that this evening would have gone differently. His reputation for cruelty and violence on the battlefield extended to the bedroom and he was in the habit of taking the leaders of vanquished countries to his bed to be broken and humiliated. In comparison, one could argue that Erik had been downright gentle.

Gentle, but Charles had been used nonetheless. He had allowed it, given permission for it to happen, and Erik had forced nothing from him, and yet…

The curl of despair that began to unfurl in his chest was quickly swept away. There was no room for moroseness, for regrets, for what ifs or what could have beens. Charles was here now, by choice and necessity, and it was clear that Erik wanted him present and engaged, not a dull-eyed and defeated slave. The King wanted him for more than a fuck each night to sate his needs and what that meant, what that would look like in reality, Charles had no idea. There was little sense in trying to guess. Erik would tell him what he wanted and Charles would obey. What he would need to learn was how to feign interest and enthusiasm; how to play the part the King was casting him in.

Charles was not an actor. He had been raised his whole life to eventually become the First of Britannia, and none of those years of education and training had prepared him to be a whore. Though Erik may have denied him that title, thought of him in a different manner, right now it was how Charles felt. A well-treated whore, a whore by choice, but a whore nonetheless. It was a feeling he would need to get used to.

Those thoughts, and too many others, swirled around Charles’ mind making sleep impossible for some time. One meandering reflection chased the next as Charles tried to ignore the warm skin of the body of his King, tried to ignore the way he seemed to fit against Erik as though he’d been made for him, tried to ignore the inherent comfort such a position lent, even when with a complete stranger.

Inevitably, fatigue won, and sleep saved him from his churning thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, Charles' new life begins.

When Charles woke up the following morning, confusion reigned.

There were several factors contributing to Charles’ growing sense of imbalance. One, a kaleidoscope of colours met his opening eyes, two, his body felt overly warm despite the silky sheets, and, three, his head was horrifyingly empty.

Why couldn’t he feel the faint buzz of minds around him? Where was the ever-present hum of the household staff busying themselves with their morning chores? Or, moreover, the bright point of Raven’s mind standing out like a blue sapphire against the background noise? The house was never silent. Charles might as well have been alone in the Xavier tomb surrounded by nothing but his ancestors; the light of their minds long ago snuffed out.

Although Charles’ mind felt akin to a frozen wasteland, there was a strangely comforting warmth surrounding his physical state; one that did not belong there, one that he could not initially place. It was that second clue that brought the present rushing back; certain realisation sweeping away all the confusion with such swiftness that Charles felt dazed.

There was a body beside Charles, and just as surely as his mind should not have been empty, his bed should not have been occupied by anyone other than himself. Charles was lying on his side, his face resting against smooth, warm skin, his arm strewn almost casually across a finely toned torso- an embrace that would have been tender were it not for the hand wrapped securely around the metal cuff on Charles’ wrist. The grip was sure and certain even though it was coming from someone in an unconscious state. As Charles’ eyes blearily blinked open they followed the defined lines of a muscled forearm, bicep, shoulder- until they reached a sleeping face that anyone in several neighbouring countries and beyond would have recognised.

The King of Genosha.

King Erik.

Charles was in King Erik’s bed.

_Fuck._

Reality slammed back into Charles like a force beyond measure, and with it- memory.

Last night Charles had presented himself to the King of Genosha. He’d shut down his telepathy, set aside his fears, and had allowed himself to be kissed, manhandled, and- oh God- _facefucked._ The recollection of that particular event was accompanied by all too vivid imagery- how Erik had looked, sounded, _tasted_ …

With skin flushed and heart racing Charles closed his eyes and swallowed hard, which only provided him with another embarrassing memory, exploding back into his senses like fireworks. Fighting to control the trembling that threatened to consume him, Charles averted his gaze from the King’s face and looked over in the direction of the windows. He considered stumbling out of bed towards them in an attempt to get some fresh air, but something distracted him.

The curtains surrounding the bed and the bedsheets themselves were all awash in an array of bright, shimmering colour- colour that had not been there last night. Charles looked down at the beautiful pattern of different pigments, where last night there had been white sheets, and realised at least one of the King’s bedroom windows had to be stained glass.

“Do you like it?”

Charles startled so abruptly that only Erik’s hold on his arm kept him where he was. “Wha-at?” he stammered through his surprise.

“When the morning sunlight hits the window just right it paints the entire bed with colour. Wunderschön, isn’t it?”

Charles was only too aware of the fact that he was gaping at Erik like some kind of fool, but he had only just woken up and Charles’ absent telepathy was making him feel like he was trying to see without sight. The fact that he was being held captive by the King’s piercing gaze only served to make Charles feel even more unsteady. In that moment, Erik’s eyes seemed very much like the stained glass- an iridescent mix of blue and green and grey; like the sea before a storm, like the sea that spanned the distance between Charles and his former home.

“Charles, you appear almost surprised to see me…”

“Yes… no… I’m sorry, my King. I forgot where I was for just a moment. It’s rather strange waking up so far from home...”

Erik’s expression softened, and he trailed his fingertips across the distance from Charles’ wrist to his shoulder, the light caress raising gooseflesh in its wake, before moving to rub one thumb along the line of Charles’ jaw.

“That’s understandable, Charles- I expect it will take you some time to fully adjust,” Erik replied, moving his thumb to just brush gently under Charles’ lower lip for a moment.

“Although…” Erik added, his brow beginning to crease in a slight frown, “I would have thought that your telepathy would make it nearly impossible to surprise you. That you would have sensed my mind before you even opened your eyes. I’ve been led to believe that your mutation can be very grounding. After all, it provides you with so much knowledge beyond what the rest of us can only see and touch. Is that not correct?”

Fuck. Charles had expected this particular topic of conversation to come up, but not necessarily this soon, and ideally not when he was lying in bed next to Erik wearing nothing more than underwear. Charles already felt vulnerable and exposed, and even without his telepathy he could sense that things were about to get worse. The high regard that King Erik held for mutants was well documented- mutants flocked to Genosha, escaping persecution in other less accepting lands. Emperor Shaw may have also been a powerful mutant leader, but anyone with any sense knew he exploited mutations for his own ends - land, wealth, and power. Charles’ telepathy was part of the reason he’d been convinced Erik would accept him so readily. But the question now was- would Erik still be so thrilled to have Charles in his bed once he found out he was stunting his mutation?

“It does not work exactly like that…” Charles said slowly, trying to buy time to think.

Charles was struck by how ridiculous the situation was- to be lying next to Erik in bed, draped over his body, gazing into his eyes like they were two lovers engaging in pillow talk, when really Charles felt more like he was a military leader embroiled in a tense negotiation. And, in essence, wasn’t that what Charles was doing? The nature of his submission to Erik was simple- he was to give his body, himself, to his King- willingly. Instead Charles found himself trying to cling to just a small sense of self; concealing the status of his mutation, the secrets of his mind, perhaps against better judgement.

“Well, how does it work then? Enlighten me.”

“Um…” Charles drew his hand across the firm muscles of Erik’s chest, attempting to withdraw somewhat, but in an instant Erik grasped Charles’ arm both by using his own hand and by seizing hold of the metal cuff on Charles’ wrist with his power. He ran his thumb in a slow circle over Charles’ exposed pulse point, just above the edge of the cuff.

“Charles...” Erik murmured through lowered eyelids. “Tell me what I’m thinking…”

Charles didn’t need his telepathy to know. Even after only one encounter Charles recognised the signs of the King’s interest- evident in the small upturn at the corner of his mouth, the flicker of excitement in his eyes, and the gradual warming of the metal banded around Charles’ wrists.

Erik’s gaze dropped down to regard Charles’ lips as he moved his hands to hold Charles’ waist and tugged Charles more firmly on top of himself, causing Charles to let out a small yelp of protest. He couldn’t help but squirm in Erik’s hold, his traitorous body writhing mildly atop the King for the second time and becoming very aware, just as before, as the King’s body took decided interest. Erik chuckled in response to Charles’ movements, his vice-like grip on Charles’ waist keeping him just where he wanted him.

“You’re very lively this morning, Charles,” Erik grinned. “I take it you slept well. That’s good, as I have an eventful day planned for the both of us... And we can get started, just as soon as you do what I ask and tell me what I’m thinking.”

More than ever there was nowhere for Charles to hide, and he found himself simply staring into Erik’s amused eyes, the light from the window casting a spectrum of colours over the both of them.

What now? What would be the best course of action? The King’s mood was clearly playful and Charles could probably hazard a guess- play it just as flirtatious in return and hope that his answer was likely to be accepted in that spirit. However, it wouldn’t be something Charles could get away with forever, and maybe it would be better to face whatever punishment was to come sooner rather than later.

“Charles…” Erik said firmly, his good mood clearly waning somewhat with the return of his more commanding tone. “Don’t keep me waiting. Use your power- tell me what I’m thinking.”

Fighting a strong urge to look away, Charles took in a deep breath before responding: “I’m sorry, my King, I don’t know.”

Immediately, Erik’s expression grew overcast, like the sign of an oncoming storm. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a telepath, aren’t you?”

“Yes… Yes, I am…“ Charles replied slowly, selecting his words carefully. “But, I’ve chosen not to use my telepathy.”

Instantly, Erik’s frown grew deeper and tension began to amass in the defined line of his clenched jaw. “Chosen? I issued you with a command.”

“I have no desire to disobey you.” That much was true for as much as Erik believed him. “However… I haven’t been using my telepathy the entire time I’ve been here. I do not wish to.”

Something flashed in Erik’s eyes. “Don’t wish to? Why not?”

Charles almost laughed at that point because _honestly_ , did Erik really not comprehend why Charles might not want to be wholly present during their encounters?

There was a fine line here and Charles knew it. Although Erik had not yet reacted with explicit violence Charles could tell he was angry- not just from the thunderous expression on his face, but also from the way he was gripping Charles’ waist with an intensity that could bruise. If Charles wasn’t careful, he could risk causing Erik’s fury to manifest in one of a million different ways, none of them pleasant. But then… Would that really happen? The King’s reputation had him as determined, uncompromising, and unemotional, but he wasn’t cruel.

Nothing Charles had heard had led him to believe that Erik was an unfair man, so perhaps the best plan of action would be to appeal to Erik’s sense of decency. To reason with him. For that to happen, however, first Charles would have to be a little bit honest.

“My King... “ Charles began slowly, carefully. “I know what I’m here for. I know what I promised to you. And I can assure you I will be faithful, loyal, and will submit to your desires. But my telepathy… That’s something different. My body is yours to do with as you wish, but my mind belongs to me and so does my mutation. I do not wish to use it during my life with you. I pray you will understand…”

It was so, so intimate- lying on top of Erik, staring into his eyes, bodies pressed together like they were made for each other, Charles moving with each swell of Erik’s breath. The hope that Charles was extending only made the encounter even more intimate- Charles was asking Erik to respect his wishes, to allow him to retain just this small sense of self, when in reality Charles had no right to demand or even expect anything of the kind.

The chasm of silence between them seemed to stretch on for far too long, made all the more troubling, ironically, by the fact that Charles didn’t know what Erik was thinking- couldn’t know- and Erik’s curiously dispassionate face gave little away. He was still angry, Charles could tell at least that much from the tension in his body, but any further inklings were curiously veiled.

Finally, Erik spoke: “Do you realise what you’re doing to yourself, Charles?” His voice was low, measured. “I cannot imagine life without use of my mutation- you might as well cut off my arm, or worse, carve out a part of my soul- but you are asking my permission to willingly separate yourself from yours. I can only imagine how unsettling such a thing would be, particularly as you would be dooming yourself to this fate for the rest of your life. Are you sure this is really what you desire?”

In a word- no, Charles wasn’t sure. Erik had put things in such stark terms and he was completely, sickeningly right. However, the alternative was equally troubling, and Charles felt like he was stuck between two undesirable paths, either of which would likely hurt him in the long run.

“Yes, I… I think I need to.”

“You don’t sound entirely sure.”

Charles forced his voice to be steady and certain. “Please, my King, this what I want.”

There was a long pause, time in which Erik looked at Charles curiously, before he replied: “Alright, if that’s what you want, you have my permission- for now... But this isn’t forever, Charles- we **will** discuss this again. I would like to think that you will be able to enjoy your life here, your life with me, and that perhaps in time you will be willing to reconsider. But even if you are not, this does not please me, and I’m not going to allow it forever.”

Well, Charles supposed that was at least something. It wasn’t quite the full consent that Charles had hoped for, but he at least had a ‘pass’ of sorts, for now. It would have to do.

“Thank you, my King,” Charles replied breathlessly. For a fleeting second he considered pressing a kiss to Erik’s cheek to show his gratitude, but did not want to further increase the closeness of the situation.

In response, Erik gave out a low grunt and turned away, resting his head back against the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. Charles remained lying on top of Erik for a short while, feeling the movement of Erik’s chest against his own like a wave cresting with each breath. Eventually he looked away, across the room, and wondered how to untangle himself from this strange intimacy that had wound its way around him like a vine.

“My King… May I please go take a shower?”

Another low grunt from Erik, but his grip on Charles’ waist was released. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Charles immediately slipped off of Erik and scrambled to the end of the bed, flinging the covers off himself, and standing up without much thought other than retreating to the bathroom. But Charles had barely made it four steps when there was a further noise from Erik, and the cuffs on Charles’ wrists tightened to keep him in place.

It only took a few moments for Charles to figure out what had suddenly captured Erik’s attention, and when Charles realised he immediately flushed all over in recognition.

The fucking undergarments. When Charles had been groomed and prepared for Erik yesterday, the servants had dressed him in a pair of undershorts made of a thin material that clung mercilessly to Charles’ thighs and sensitive areas. Worst of all, it had a rear panel that was sheer and unforgiving, and was likely giving Erik a fantastic view of Charles’ buttocks.

Charles attempted to move but found the grip on the cuffs to be sure and unyielding, and he could do little more than turn his head to the side, finding Erik sat up in the bed, his eyes focused determinedly on Charles’ arse.

Fuck.

The speed at which Erik moved was slow and almost torturous. At first, he simply leaned forward, eyes raking in appraisal across Charles’ form, and then he was shifting to the side and slipping unhurriedly from the bed, before standing and wandering around to where Charles was held frozen in place. Charles’ skin prickled and he kept his head bowed as Erik approached, his breathing heightened in anticipation as Erik stepped closer and placed one firm hand on Charles’ shoulder before he said: “Turn around.”

Immediately, Charles turned his head to face Erik, assuming that was what Erik wanted, but for once Erik wasn’t meeting his eyes- his gaze continued to be focused decidedly lower as his grip on Charles’ shoulder grew more firm and he repeated: “Turn around.”

Charles felt his heart skip a beat as he began to comprehend what Erik was asking for, and his knees grew weak as he slowly, slowly turned around so that he was facing the bed. Erik moved with him, coming to stand behind Charles and placing both hands on Charles’ waist- the warmth of his palms pressed against Charles’ skin making Charles even more nervous, particularly when accompanied by the heat of Erik’s breath on the back of his neck.

Of course, both of these sensations were of least concern when Charles became aware of something else… Erik took one, two steps closer- his hands continuing to hold Charles’ waist as he shifted his hips forward and then, there it was- the hard line of Erik’s large cock pressed against Charles’ arse.

Charles tried and failed to bite back a whimper. He shifted unsteadily on his feet, but Erik held him still, slowly pushing against Charles’ buttocks- the heat and rigidity of Erik’s member evident even through both their layers of clothing. Charles supposed it was only a matter of time before he ended up here, like this, but even so he found himself hesitant to comply as Erik leaned close and murmured in Charles’ ear: “Lie down on the bed.”

Trepidation surged through Charles’ veins as he worked to convince himself not to pull away, but to allow Erik to press one hand firmly between his shoulder blades, to push Charles down onto the bed, to lie flat against the mattress- arms still pinned at his sides and feet dangling over the edge. Charles remained still as he heard the sound of Erik moving, of clothing coming off… Even without looking Charles knew Erik was now naked, felt the heat of his body as he approached, and bit his lip against any protests as Erik placed both hands on Charles’ hips.

Charles waited, expecting Erik to swiftly remove the flimsy undergarments so he could have his way with him, but still it didn’t happen. Erik leaned over Charles, the mattress dipping under the weight of his body, but instead of pushing Charles’ legs apart he nudged them further together, settling his knees on either side of Charles’ thighs.

Part of Charles wanted to look back, to see what was happening, but he decided to embrace the opportunity he had been presented with to press his face into the mattress and brace himself for what was to follow. Erik still didn’t attempt to remove Charles’ underwear, but he did draw one hand slowly over the curve of Charles’ buttock, causing Charles to tremble and to emit a muffled moan that even he wasn’t sure of the meaning of.

“So good, Charles- you’re being so well behaved for your King…” Erik said softly, grasping Charles’ buttocks with both hands and drawing them slightly apart.

This was it then, Charles knew it, and once more he tried to prepare himself for the exposure of Erik removing his underwear at long last, but still it didn’t come. Instead, Erik edged forward on the bed, lowered his hips, and pressed his cock against Charles’ ass. There was an immediate squeak from Charles, and a resultant chuckle from Erik, and then Erik was rolling his hips forward and drawing his member along the line of Charles’ buttocks more purposefully.

“Do you like that, Charles?” Erik murmured, holding Charles securely as he thrust against him.

Even though Charles was still wearing his underwear the insubstantial material provided little cover- he could feel every inch of Erik’s hot, hard cock as it slid along the dip between his buttocks, brushing against the sensitive parts of Charles that made his skin tingle as he bit his lip to keep from making any sound. Charles couldn’t allow himself to enjoy what was happening- he was being used; nothing more than the King of Genosha’s fuck toy- and whatever involuntary physical responses Charles’ body gave out would simply have to be ignored. Fortunately, Charles was more mortified than anything else, and he was grateful for the freedom to bury his face in the mattress and hide from Erik, for once.

“So good, Liebling…” Erik grunted, his thrusts becoming more forced and uncertain, his hands flexing where they held Charles’ waist. “Such a gorgeous ass. I can’t wait to fuck you properly.”

Charles closed his eyes at Erik’s words, not wanting to think about the certainty of the encounters to follow. There would be hundreds more intimacies like this with Erik. Thousands. And there was only so long before Erik decided to take Charles completely; something Charles had told himself since the beginning he was ready for, though the nervous churning the idea prompted in the pit of Charles’ stomach seemed to say otherwise.

“So good…” Erik moaned, pressing Charles down into the mattress with both hands, holding Charles in place as he rolled his hips a final few times, until there were a series of deep groans followed by the feeling of hot come spurting across Charles’ arse, dampening the rear of his underwear. Charles could feel Erik’s seed seeping into the thin material, warm against Charles’ skin and sliding down into the crease between his buttocks, leaving Charles feeling decidedly dirty and used and, well, _owned._

Erik remained close to Charles for a time afterwards, leaning over him and breathing heavily before he dipped his head and pressed one firm kiss to the back of Charles’ neck. Then, when Erik was satisfied, he withdrew- drawing back from Charles and standing up from the bed once more, leaving Charles lying there feeling Erik’s eyes still on him.

“You may go shower now,” Erik said.

Whether it was a command or merely a suggestion, Charles was more than happy to follow it, and he tried not to choke on his own humiliation as he moved on unsteady feet toward the bathroom.

The view, the image Charles was presenting Erik with at that moment, _God_ … The underwear clung to Charles even more assuredly, soaked through as it was with Erik’s-- even in thought Charles didn’t care to use any of the many words or euphemisms that might be appropriate. Even after Charles had crossed the threshold of the bathroom door and closed it behind him, he still could not shake the feeling of degradation. The lingering feeling of Erik on his skin, the scent, the sounds as Charles removed the underwear.

The only sense of relief that came in that moment was for the King’s immense wealth. He had running water- a shower, not simply a bath needing to be filled by servants carrying tubs of heated water. Charles was not sure he could look another human being in the eye at that moment and was grateful beyond measure that he would not have to.

Charles stood motionless under the hot water for some time, letting the constant stream wash away some part of the shame clinging to him. How long would it be before he would cease needing to remind himself of why he was here, of duty and necessity, of how much worse off he would be if it were Shaw’s bed and not Erik’s he shared, of the uselessness of succumbing to depression in these idle moments?

Idleness...

Charles was struck with the realisation of how much he feared the word. He had spent so much time thinking and worrying over his time with Erik that he had not stopped to think about his time _without_ him. Charles was used to being productive. Used to pouring over treaties and trade agreements, of understanding the laws and customs of surrounding nations, of broadening his mind with texts on literature and science, of honing skills in diplomacy and negotiation, of versing himself in military strategy, of consulting with political advisors, of answering citizens’ petitions, of--

Charles cut off the rapidly spiralling stream of thought.

When Erik was off busying himself with such duties, what would be expected of Charles? To wait in bed like a good boy? Ready to spread his legs or open his mouth when the King wanted it?

Charles imagined the King might want him there at banquets and games, to attend festivals and jousting matches as the King’s arm candy; as a symbol of his new dominion over Britannia for all to see. However, such events only happened so often. In the meantime…

Charles slammed a hand against the shower wall and finally reached for the soap. Apparently without the thoughts of others to distract him, his own ran wild... Contemplating all the what-ifs of his new life was as useless as falling into depression and would only serve to cause him unneeded anxiety. Already, the King had shown that he was willing to listen to Charles, willing to grant him something as significant as authority over his mutation- even if only for now. Charles needed to cross every bridge as he came to it, rather than imagining every fork in the road that paved the path ahead. That way lay madness…

Charles knew he had already been in the shower for longer than was even considered luxurious and soon made quick work of cleansing himself. Each stray thought that entered his mind was quickly clamped down on and tossed away, as much as was possible. Charles instead focused on the here and now- on the movements of his own hands across his body, on the fresh smell of the pine scented soap- no doubt cultivated with the needles of the surrounding forest- of the luxury of so much hot water, more than he’d even been privy to at home.

When Charles was finished he exited the shower, and spent a short amount of time surveying his surroundings- hoping that there might be some items of clothing in the immediate vicinity for him to wear. Unfortunately, there was nothing- save for the sight of Charles’ defiled underwear lying on the floor. But no matter. There was little point trying to hide- from Erik, from the situation- Charles knew that. And so, after inhaling a deep breath and casting a cursory glance over his appearance in the nearby mirror, Charles reached for a towel.

Charles emerged from the bathroom with heavy steam billowing behind him. Erik was already fully dressed for the day and was lounging in a sitting area littered with inviting couches, recliners, and cushions which were further ladened with fur blankets, silks, and downy sheep skins that Charles immediately wanted to press his face against to see if they were truly as soft as they looked.

As Charles took in the room, he realised just how little of it he’d managed register the night before- unsurprising, considering the more pressing matters at hand. There were indeed several stained glass windows that spanned the room, interspersed with those made of regular glass, and large double doors which Charles presumed led to a balcony. Accompanying the sitting area was a large fireplace- necessary to heat the drafty castle room in the harsh months of winter. An ornate oak desk- with neatly stacked parchment- sat in another corner, and several shelves- housing finely bound books- were nestled near the desk. Charles did not allow himself to contemplate the spines for long, not knowing what the King might grant him.

It was then that the glorious scent of freshly baked bread caught Charles’ notice and his stomach made a rather enthusiastic gurgling noise in response.

Erik chuckled from his position on a reclining sofa. “Hungry?”

It would be a lie to say Charles wasn’t. He had been fed before meeting the King last night, but his nerves had allowed him to eat very little and his body was finally making its thoughts on the matter known.

With an amused glance, Erik tore off a piece of loaf and brandished it at Charles. When Charles did not immediately move the King’s expression slipped into a wide grin.

“I don’t bite, Liebling… yet.”

The fact that Charles only flushed marginally felt like a win, and he pushed one foot in front of the other until he was within reach of the sinfully good smelling bread. He plucked the chunk from Erik’s fingers and unceremoniously popped the whole thing into his mouth, almost moaning at the way it all but melted on his tongue.

“There are preserves, if you wish,” Erik said, motioning to several glass jars on the nearby coffee table. “The red berries from the southern peninsula make a particularly sweet jam,” he added, before gesturing to the space at his feet in front of the couch he was sitting on and requesting: “Please Charles, sit.”

Charles did as he was told, more swiftly than he had any other order to date, though this one was decidedly easier to follow than any of the others, but he ensured the towel preserved his modesty as he settled himself down on his knees facing Erik.

No sooner had Charles done so when he felt a gentle tug on the metal encasing the lower half of his forearms. Unlike before, the intent did not seem to be to maneuver him into the position Erik wished, nor halt him in his tracks- the bands were simply raised for the King’s perusal. Erik sat up so that he could take one of the cuffs into his hands as he pulled Charles’ arms into his lap, before running his thumbs over the intricate design in time with the increasingly familiar warmth and vibration of his power.

Without moving his eyes from the cuff, Erik asked: “How do they feel?”

Charles blinked, not having expected the question. Were the physical symbols of his submission supposed to be comfortable or uncomfortable? The King surely meant physically, but there were emotions attached to these cuffs as well, and none of them were particularly positive. The number of ways Charles could potentially answer that question struck him as funny enough in that moment that he needed to bite down on his lip to prevent any inappropriate laughter from escaping.

After a moment, Charles settled on neutrality. “They’re… fine.”

Erik’s gaze flicked from the cuffs to Charles’ eyes. “Answer me honestly- are they hurting you?”

The bold directness of Erik’s stare would have inclined Charles to comply with the truth, even if he had not been in a position that required he submit to demands.

“They’re... very lightweight,” Charles replied. “Remarkably so. I can feel them, yes, I know they are there, but they do not weigh on me. The craftsmanship is exemplary, but… they do chafe, a little, around the edges.”

The King frowned slightly, and Charles watched in amazement as in the next second the metal began to curl back on either end of the cuff, as though it were as easy to roll as fabric. Erik concentrated on the task at hand intently, and as he took in the red lines on Charles’ skin his frown deepened.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology stunned Charles, who did not know what, if anything, he should say in return. He had fully expected the King to tell him he would ‘get used to it’, but instead there was silence from Erik accompanied by a sudden clunking sound from across the room- even though they were alone and neither one of them had moved. Erik’s eyes raised from the cuffs to the bathroom door and Charles followed his gaze, watching in interest as a small pot with a metal lid began to float steadily toward them. It did not wobble once on it’s whole journey, and Charles found the King’s control extraordinary.

The pot settled on the low table next to them and without letting go of Charles’ wrist Erik popped off the metallic lid. He reached down and gathered what appeared to be some sort of lotion on the tips of his fingers, before returning to Charles’ arm and starting to rub the lotion into the red marks crossing Charles’ wrist. The touch was careful, gentle, and Charles felt slightly dazed as he watched strong, callused fingers tend first to one wrist and then the other.

“This should help them heal faster,” Erik murmured as his finished applying the last bit of lotion.

This time Charles found his voice, though he was no less stunned. “Thank you.”

“You need not sound so surprised,” Erik replied, quirking one eyebrow. “You are under my care now.”

At that the metal of the cuffs began to roll back into place, but as it did it also reformed slightly; its edges becoming smoother and more rounded. As he continued to focus, Erik took one cuff in each hand and turned Charles’ arms so that his palms were facing upward. The geometric pattern was interrupted here, as this was the place where the cuffs opened and closed, but without comment the King ran his thumbs down the seam and Charles watched as it disappeared, as the metal sealed and became continuous and unbroken. Though Charles would never have dared it without permission, there was now no way for the cuffs to come off unless the King willed it to be so.

Charles continued to stare at the cuffs, at this very real symbol of his new status, until the King’s strong hand caught his chin, drawing Charles’ gaze back to Erik’s steely eyes.

“I take care of what’s mine,” Erik said levelly.

And Charles was Erik’s- completely. The solidity of the cuffs banding his wrists, the hum of power running through them, the incredible intensity of the King’s eyes… If Charles had not felt it before, he did now.

He was owned.

“Now stand.”

At the command, Charles rose from the floor with only the barest moment of hesitation and only the slightest tremble in his body.

“Take off the towel.”

Charles’ breath hitched. The sliver of modesty he’d been allowed had lasted for less than twenty-four hours. He supposed he should have been grateful he’d been allowed any at all- that he hadn’t been immediately stripped and examined, or laid out naked on the bed, vulnerable and waiting for his new master to come and take him.

Those thoughts did little to stay the tremble in Charles’ hands as he moved them to where he had secured the towel, but his body was the King’s and the King had a right to see it. And so, Charles let the towel drop.

Save for the metal on his arms, Charles was now fully naked before his King.

The King leaned back and looked. His eyes roved slowly from head to toe, as though he were taking in each feature, each freckle. With every flicker of movement in the King’s eyes Charles flushed harder, and the urge to cover himself became nearly more than he could bear as the King said little, and his expression revealed little more. The King’s gaze seemed appreciative, but Charles could not be sure and more and more he came to realize how little he understood facial cues without sensing the emotions behind them. And then, like a starburst of panic exploding into his thoughts, Charles wondered what might happen if the King did not like what he saw.

Charles already knew his body was nothing compared to Erik’s. He had seen and felt the well-defined muscles of the King’s chest, abdomen, and thighs. He had experienced first hand the King’s impressive length and knew that, should anyone ever accuse Erik for compensating for anything with the long broadswords he favored in battle, they would have been sorely mistaken. Though Charles knew his body was nothing to be ashamed of, he felt… soft, unremarkable, average. How could he not next to this man?

“Turn around.”

Charles’ flush grew impossibly deeper but did as he was told. As he turned around and stood there his skin burned, as though he could feel the King’s heated gaze taking in his shoulders, back, buttocks, thighs, and calves. Charles’ breathing began to speed up as his mind continued to run away with itself, doing exactly what he had promised himself in the shower that he would not do, but it was easier said than done. What did the King think? Was he pleased with what he saw? What would he want now?

“Turn around.”

The command was issued again and Charles turned back to face Erik, wanting desperately to drop his gaze but knowing that would be a clear sign of disobedience. The King rose as gracefully as a predator to stand in front of Charles, his eyes continuing to rove in assessment, and then, his hands.

Erik placed his palms first on Charles’ shoulders, squeezing slightly before they began to ghost down his arms- the touch so light that Charles could not help but shiver under the King’s caress. After that, those slender fingers moved everywhere- more light touches grazing Charles’ chest, his stomach, the tops of his thighs, his buttocks and back. Everywhere but _there._ Erik’s hands completed their exploration and finally settled on Charles’ waist, thumbs running back and forth across the line of his hips.

The King stepped closer, the soft fabric of his tunic and trousers brushing against Charles’ skin and producing further shivers. The encounter felt intimate enough already, but then Erik leaned down to murmur in Charles’ ear.

“I know you don’t want my touch now...” The King’s thumb ran perilously close to _there_ , stopping just short. “But you will.”

Charles inhaled a shaky breath as lips pressed against the sensitive juncture just below his ear, licking and sucking, eliciting more involuntary shivers before the King went on: “I won’t touch you until you want it. Until you ask for it. _Beg_ for it. Because, Charles, you _will_ beg.”

The words were heavy with promise, and Charles choked as a frisson of something he did not want to acknowledge skittered down his spine.

“I will make you feel _so_ _good_ , Liebling.”

Erik’s hands tightened on Charles’ hips, before sliding back to grasp at Charles’ arse, bringing the two of them together intimately.

“You are gorgeous.” The King was hard again, pressed against the juncture of Charles’ hip. “So gorgeous...” he murmured, as Charles’ whole body trembled reactively.

There was a soft chuckle from Erik as his hips rocked forward, and he leaned back to stare down at Charles; lust apparent in his heavily-dilated eyes- no longer coloured with the light of the stained glass but dark with desire.

“Mmmm, Charles, how are we to leave the room now when I’ve finally unwrapped my gift…?”

  _“Your fist, Charles, just a little tighter, faster. Yes- like that. Perfect, you’re perfect.”_

Charles had done his duty, served his new purpose, and the King had been sated again.

_“Look at you, Liebling- naked and spread across my thighs, hand on my cock- Mein Gott.”_

Charles was no longer naked, which should have provided some relief from the feelings of shame, vulnerability, and exposure that seemed to constantly threaten to overwhelm him, but he felt little better about it. Charles was back in the trousers he’d been dressed in the previous evening, but without underwear. Those had obviously been ruined that morning, but Charles wondered if perhaps the King might prefer it this way anyway- less material to pull away to get at what he wanted.

_“You will be so pretty when you ride me...”_

Erik had also provided Charles with one of his own shirts. On Charles’ smaller frame it was over large- too broad across the shoulders, and too long in the arms. He wasn’t quite swimming in it but it still made him feel small and insignificant, though he supposed it was better than the alternative- being paraded about the castle topless.

 _The King’s hands mapping out his exposed stomach and chest, grasping bruisingly at his waist and spread thighs, kneading his buttocks, putting his hands everywhere that was his. True to his word, never touching Charles_ there _, but revelling in every inch of skin he now possessed as Charles continued to stroke._

The idea of leaving the bedroom brought on a host of other emotions Charles was not sure how to manage. On the one hand, he was desperate to leave the quarters... Charles had already been required to service his King three times in a very short period, and one thing was clear- Erik’s sexual appetite was not wanting. Charles felt, but of course could not be sure, that outside the bedroom the likelihood of him needing to perform his duties lessened. However, outside the King’s quarters, the eyes of everyone would be upon him.

_The King’s hands wrapping around his biceps. Fierce eyes demanding._

_“Tell me.”_

_And he knew, somehow he knew._

_“All of me is yours.”_

_Erik’s body arching, coming._

And everyone would know, they would all know who Charles was and _what_ he was to the King. Worse, they all would know who he’d been before and what he’d been reduced to. It hardly mattered that such things were expected, customary. Nothing would change the fact that he had been Britannia’s First Son and was now the King of Genosha’s whore. Pity. Sympathy. Relief. Maliciousness. Schadenfreude. Even envy. Charles would see it all in their eyes.

A castle of this size was not the King’s private home, it was, unto itself, a small city. Beyond the servants and staff who kept it operating there would be knights, courtiers, and advisors- the upper echelons of Genoshan society who all had their own residences but divided their time between home and living at the court of the King. Charles was used to this sort of life, on a smaller scale, in Britannia, but he was used to being one of them.

No longer.

Again, whatever his feelings were, they mattered not. He would have to do as the King pleased both in the bedroom and out of it. Whether he would sit at the King's feet like a prized pet or like a person at his side, whether he would be dressed like a concubine- skin revealed for his King to gaze upon- or clothed like the noble he had been, still was, whether he would have some freedom to do those things that he used to do to occupy his mind or whether he would be kept on a short leash or, god forbid, a literal leash-  
  
Charles choked on piece of bread.  
  
Erik raised an eyebrow, breakfast nearly done after it had been temporarily interrupted by Erik's desires. "Are you alright, Charles?" he asked.  
  
Charles diverted his thoughts as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was to explain to Erik why yet another flush was stealing over his cheeks- the image of himself collared, nearly naked, and chained to his master.  
  
"I'm fine, my--" Charles cut off as a question- a diversion, thankfully- leapt to mind. "I've been addressing you as 'my King'. Is that what you would prefer?"  
  
Erik appeared to contemplate this for a moment before responding: "'Sire' works as well but..." A slow smirk curled at one corner of Erik's lips. It was an expression that Charles was already becoming rather familiar with the meaning of...

Charles felt a slight tug on his armbands- not enough to imbalance him but enough to know Erik wanted him closer- and so he slid forward on the couch he was sharing with Erik until he was close enough to be touched. And Erik did touch him- reaching up to run his thumb along Charles' bottom lip as his eyes followed the movement.

"Though, I do like the way 'my King' rolls off your Britannic tongue..."  
  
Without pause Erik pressed his thumb forward to seek entrance and Charles allowed it, feeling the King's thumb slide past lips and teeth to settle on his tongue. After a beat, Charles curled his tongue around it and licked. The King's eyelids fluttered and an appreciative hum sounded from his throat. "We will have to put that Britannic tongue to better use later..."  
  
So much for not blushing.  
  
Erik chuckled, pulling his thumb out of Charles' mouth before stroking his fingertips over one flushing cheek. "I'm becoming rather fond of this colour on you, Charles..." he murmured. This, of course, only made Charles flush harder, which in turn only deepened Erik's appreciative chuckle. "I'll have to enjoy it while it lasts," he added.

After that Erik stood and motioned for Charles to follow suit, causing Charles to scramble up on shaky legs to heed the request. Charles stood facing Erik, gazing up to meet the King’s eyes. There was a considered look on Erik’s face, and then he said: "In time, you will be so thoroughly debauched I'd wager very little will make you blush."  
  
Charles was quite certain every single drop of blood in his body was residing just under the surface of his skin, like the heat within his veins was surging towards Erik in the wake of his words. Erik pulled Charles close, smiling down at him and saying in a low voice: "As much as I'd like to continue our descent into depravity right now, even I have my limits."

Whilst Charles’ mind contemplated the depths of such depravity, Erik gave his waist a quick squeeze and released him. "Come, Charles- let's see about getting you some proper garments."  
  
The King turned away without another word and clearly expected Charles to follow, not even offering up words of instruction but assuming obedience nonetheless. Instantly, Erik’s demeanour had shifted from playfully lascivious to thoroughly imposing, and each stride as they exited the bedroom and moved out into the hallway seemed to communicate his authority. The smirk too had disappeared and his face became resolute, and Charles almost had difficulty keeping up with the King’s determined walk as they moved purposefully through the halls.  
  
Just as had been the case with the King's bedroom, Charles had taken very little notice of the castle around him the day before. This was the King's private wing, not nearly as ostentatious as the public sections of the castle would undoubtedly be, but his great wealth and authority were clear even here- in the soft rugs protecting their feet from the cold stone beneath, in the fine tapestries, artwork, and stained glass that adorned the walls, and most of all in the low reverent bows of servants bustling about. Charles lamented, for only a brief moment, that he could not read the emotions of those servants. So much could be discerned about the character of the nobility from how their staff felt about them.  
  
Charles kept his thoughts on the here and now- on the castle's features, rather than what lay ahead. It would take time and practice for a naturally inquisitive and analytical mind such as Charles’ to not continually run wild with all the possibilities of his situation, but his sanity demanded he remain as much as possible in the present. The past and the future were both mired with pitfalls in their own ways. It helped, also, that Erik said little as they strode to their destination.

When they arrived, Erik pushed open a fine wooden door that led into a room that might have been considered average-sized were it not for its purpose. Few individuals had a room wholly designated for dressing, as this one clearly was. In the centre of the room, a raised platform was was flanked by mirrors in a semicircle, with other mirrors positioned alone so they might be maneuvered to catch each angle of the subject.  
  
As they entered, a woman appeared from a door to their right. She bowed low as the other servants they had encountered had done. Erik waited for the completion of this small ritual of respect before speaking.

"Marie, meet Charles Xavier."

The girl bowed for him as well, not as low as she had done for Erik, but befitting of his former life. What Erik had said the night before seemed to hold some weight and was no less confounding now than it had been then. How could he be both whore and Lord at the same time?  
  
"I will leave him in your capable hands." Erik turned from her and faced Charles once more. "I've already chosen some garments for you. Marie will take your measurements and the seamstresses will set to work fitting the garments to you immediately. They should have something ready within the hour."

Erik’s always intense gaze locked with Charles' for several moments. There was unmistakable heat in it, not as forward as it had been in the bedroom, but contained- a predator held back, knowing this was neither the time nor place. Charles shivered, and not just because he was still barely dressed, before Erik's attention snapped back to Marie.

"We will need to order more blue silks from the Prenova Province. A variety of shades."  
  
"Of course, Sire. It will be done." Marie bowed low again.  
  
With his order acknowledged the King turned to Charles one final time. "I have several matters to attend to this morning that will keep me away for a short time, but I will return in due course. Should you need anything in the meantime Marie will be able to accommodate you.”  
  
It was clear that this was the end of their interaction and therefore Charles should do... what? Bow? To mid-height or lower? Kneel or bend at the waist? Continue to meet Erik’s eyes as already instructed so many times or lower them in reverence? Even as First Son of Britannia, Charles would have bowed to show respect to the superior power of Genosha and its King, and as Erik had insisted Charles was to retain his title and standing should he not continue to act as accustomed?

Charles' mind railed against him, told him that he should already know, told him how easy it would be to dip only shallowly into Erik's mind and understand his wishes. How disconcerting and wrong this continued to feel... Charles _should know_.  
  
Charles quickly settled on a variation of what he would have done had he ever met Erik under normal circumstances. He bent at the waist, clasping his hands behind him so that the King could follow the line of his back down to the cuffs, but he kept his chin tilted up and his eyes on Erik.  
  
"My King," Charles murmured in a voice he hoped sounded soft and reverent.  
  
Erik's kingly visage did not waver, but Charles thought he saw pleasure flicker through those grey-green-blue eyes of his. The King placed a hand under Charles' chin and made him rise from his bow. Without comment, he brought Charles in close and brushed their lips together, a barely-there sensation that left Charles' lips tingling with an involuntary desire for pressure; for the kiss that was promised but not given.

"So good, Liebling..." The words were for Charles alone, so low he barely heard them.  
  
Without saying another word, the King stepped back, turned on his heel and exited the room.  
  
Charles was left with a strange mix of emotions- at the same time feeling relieved and bereft, and swallowing an inexplicable desire to press his fingers to his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a labour of amazing love for us. If you are adoring reading it as much as we adore writing it we would absolutely love to know what you're thinking of the fic and, particularly, what you're thinking about King Erik.
> 
> Also, we welcome anonymous comments here or on our tumblrs if you're feeling a little shy about expressing your enjoyment. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finds out more about what life will be like for him in Genosha.

Charles regarded himself in the mirror and let out a slow breath.

The past two hours had been familiar. The ritual of being measured, fitted, pinned, tugged at, and scrutinized by a master at work in their craft had worked to soothe frayed nerves. Besides Marie, several other women and men had whirled about him, robing and disrobing him in so many different garments Charles had experienced difficulty keeping track. With each garment his sense of relief had increased. Charles had travelled enough on diplomatic matters to know how some royalty dressed or, perhaps more accurately, _failed to dress_ , those who served them sexually. It seemed, when they were not in the bedroom at least, Charles would continue to be presented as nobility. The trousers, he felt, were being more snugly fitted than he would have liked, but if the most he had to worry about was showing off his arse and thighs in tight pants, well, he was getting off easy.

He was again in the tunic and trousers they had dressed him in first, now fitted to his figure thanks to the quick work of Erik's staff. Beneath them, and furthering his sense of relief and normality, were plain undergarments- nothing sheer or otherwise designed to wet the King's appetite, which, in Charles' opinion, needed little help. As for the clothing, though Charles had had little time or regard for fashion, even he had to admit the King's taste was impeccable. The blue silk the tunic was fashioned out of was of the finest quality material Charles had ever experienced. It was hand-embroidered with a geometric pattern in gold thread that seemed to compliment the cuffs adorning his wrists, making them seem more fashion accessory than symbol of submission, though which pattern had inspired the other he had little clue.

It was all much showier than anything he would have chosen for himself back home and the tunic cut across the upper thigh rather than mid-thigh or lower. Charles was aware this was the current trend, but had always felt more comfortable in longer garb, to Raven's eternal amusement. _"Are you trying to be youngest First Elder Britannia has ever had?"_ she’d said. The memory twinged and Charles brushed it away, instead focusing on the suppleness of the leather belt around his waist, and the leather boots that came to his knee. The black trousers were simple and unadorned, the star of the outfit being the gold embroidered tunic.

"Well, how do I look?"

Though Charles undoubtedly had no need, nor real reason, to seek approval from anyone, he found himself desiring it anyway. All throughout fitting Charles had not engaged with the servants who surrounded him, other than to offer feedback as to whether a garment was comfortable or not, and Charles couldn’t help but find it unusual. Granted, most members of nobility favoured distance between themselves and the people who served them, often going so far as to have no engagement with them whatsoever outside of issuing commands, but Charles had never been comfortable with this. He valued people- no matter who they were or what their background was- and as such he wanted to ensure they were treated fairly.

The recipient of Charles’ words, Marie, was clearly not used to being involved in casual conversation with nobility. Immediately, she glanced up at Charles, mouth parting in an unspoken question, but within a breath she had dropped her gaze again to focus on the length of material she was grasping. The hands that held the material were enrobed in long, black gloves- which Charles would have considered a barrier to someone who performed such a manual craft- but arguably the garments had not hampered Marie’s work at all. Nevertheless, Charles couldn’t help but wonder what would be the reason for wearing gloves on such a balmy day.

For a short while Charles assumed Marie wasn’t going to answer him at all, but then there was a quiet, measured response:

“You look very well, sir...”

Charles couldn’t help but correct her, uncomfortable as he was with titles. “Charles,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Please, call me Charles.”

There was that look again- an expression of surprise on Marie’s pretty face. It made her seem younger somehow, and made Charles think of his own sister back home- how she’d looked a few years ago, before she had become hardened by the realities of life. Charles couldn’t help but smile a little at the memory, and then- to his surprise- Marie smiled back. She seemed unsure of it at first, like she was fighting the expression in fear of retribution, but as Charles continued to regard her fondly her smile grew wider, and Charles’ heart warmed at the sight.

Relieved by even this brief exchange with Marie, Charles found himself wanting to take it further- to actually begin a proper conversation. There was a fear Charles held deep down that life at the castle would be lonely, that he would have no one but Erik to talk to, that his stunted telepathy would only make him feel more isolated and alone. If Charles could perhaps forge at least some cordial relationships it would undoubtedly go a long way toward keeping him sane, and perhaps this sweet and slightly timid girl was the way to start. However, before Charles could open his mouth to speak further he heard the door behind himself open, and from the way all of the people in the room immediately stood to attention, Charles knew Erik had returned.

Charles found himself doing much the same, if for different reasons. He squared his shoulders and took a steadying breath, readying himself to once again face his King. Charles turned on the raised platform upon which he stood and waited, unable to clearly discern the meaning in the King’s expression as Erik took his appearance in slowly, much as he had Charles’ naked body earlier that morning. With each interaction, Charles was able to glean a little bit more about Erik’s character, and Charles concluded that he seemed careful, thoughtful, measured- at least in some things. This scrutiny was much easier to bear than the King’s eyes on his bare skin. With each flick of his eyes, Erik’s countenance grew more appreciative and, to Charles’ relief, not nearly as lustful as before. Perhaps, Charles was not about to be dragged off and disrobed as quickly as he had been clothed...

“As always, Marie, your work is unparalleled.” Though Erik spoke to her, his eyes never left Charles. Out of the periphery of his vision Charles could see Marie nod graciously, but other than that any expression evident on her face was not clearly visible, as now that Erik was in the room again Charles dared not look anywhere else.

Without further comment, Erik stepped closer so that he stood right in front of Charles, the raised platform nearly making their heights parallel. He put his hand on Charles’ bicep, running his fingers over the soft embroidered fabric of the shortsleeve found there.

As the King admired the cloth, Charles found his mind searching for possible things to say, to ask. Should he always wait for the King to speak first, as was the proper custom, or would the King wish him to engage more freely, as something closer to an equal? The entire situation was a puzzle and, as someone with a highly analytical mind, Charles had always enjoyed puzzles, stratagems, mysteries. If he spent his time endeavouring to figure out the puzzle that was his relationship with King Erik it would not only give him a way to preoccupy his mind, it would also be beneficial. His entire purpose in life was to be a pleasing companion to the King and if his wardrobe was anything to go by, that would be in the case out of the bedroom as much as in it. Right now, to discern the King's wants and needs out of bed was a much easier and less emotionally fraught task, and so Charles forged ahead.

“Does my appearance please you, my King?”

Erik’s eyes moved from the fabric to Charles’ face once more.

“You are beautiful, Liebling,” Erik said softly. He closed the final distance between them and pressed his mouth to Charles’ with more firmness than when he’d left the room, and though the kiss remained close-mouthed and chaste, it was just long enough for Charles to think that he was already becoming somewhat familiar with the feeling of the King’s lips against his own.

Erik trailed his lips to Charles’ ear and whispered: “However, my greatest pleasure will come from removing them later. Or,” he paused to press a kiss just below Charles’ ear, “Watching you do it for me.”

Blast.

True to his word, the King seemed to take every available opportunity to make Charles blush. He pulled back and, unsurprisingly, admired the pink flush that coloured Charles’ cheeks.

“Come, Charles, I have much to show you.”

 

Charles had very little idea of what to expect when it came to what the King was planning to show him.

Although Erik had certainly been very accommodating and as generous as Charles could hope for so far, there was nothing to suggest that such accommodation would extend outside the four walls of the bedroom. Given the lavish nature of Charles’ dress, he knew that Erik wanted him to be presentable for the moments when he was to be outside of the King’s personal quarters, but Charles could only speculate as to why. Within his mind visions were easily summoned and vivid- kneeling at the King’s feet in the throne room, forced to sit in subjugation for endless hours whilst Erik conducted his business and Charles remained quiet, like a good boy.

Charles couldn’t help but shudder at the thought.

However, as it turned out, any fears Charles harboured about what would occur that morning were unfounded.

To Charles’ surprise and confusion, he spent a pleasant few hours walking around the castle with Erik, being given a very personal tour of the home he now resided in. Charles knew only too well how pompous the nobility could be, and for the initial part of the morning he had trouble shaking the idea that he was being shown everything he _couldn’t_ have- things he was not to touch, rooms he was not to go in, people he was not to talk to. But with each room it seemed less and less likely, Erik spoke to him as though Charles were royalty too, and nothing appeared to be off-limits. Nothing drove this home more than the room Charles knew would likely become his favourite.

“…And this is the library,” Erik said, pushing open a large oak door and allowing Charles to venture in ahead of himself.  

Although Charles’ mind was still subject to muddled thoughts when it came to what had happened so far, in that moment every scattered thought and concern dissipated from his head, chased away by a rush of joy and wonder.

Charles walked into the room, mouth gaping as he stared up at the high ceilings and extravagant features of the large space. However, it wasn’t so much the fine furnishings and impressive wall hangings that captured his attention at that particular moment, though there was a painting of Erik apparently wrestling a bear that Charles considered having another look at later… No, it was shelf after shelf of books- different shapes, sizes, colours; small little notebooks and huge volumes of text so weighty Charles was sure he would need two hands to hold them.

Charles had always loved reading. Growing up, he had done so much of it his mother would often look at him with thinly-veiled derision and tell Charles he was never going to attract a partner if he always had his face in a book, whereas his father would smile with pride and ask Charles to tell him what he had learned. All throughout his life Charles had consumed whatever book he could get his hands on, from flighty fiction to serious scientific texts, and that appetite for reading had continued into the later years of his life.

The personal library Charles had at home in Britannia was a treasure of his; the result of a lifetime of collecting and preserving books. It was Charles’ most prized possession, and it still pained Charles to remember how upset he had been on the day when he had stood in that library for the last time. He knew that reading was unlikely to be high on the list of a concubine’s priorities, and therefore it would be pointless for him to bring anything with him. In truth, Charles had presumed that he may never read a book again, not unless the King deigned to throw him a worn copy to look at during the times in which he wasn’t busy with his mouth full or his legs spread open. But… But Erik had brought him here, to this library, and Charles’ heart raced with the possibilities of what it might mean.

“This is nothing short of incredible!” Charles breathed, rushing forward to trail one hand along the spines of a row of beautifully adorned covers. “You have all of En Sabah Nur’s _Ancient Gods_ series of novels- I have only had the opportunity to read worn copies of them, but these appear to be the originals. And these!” Charles gasped, following the fevered path his eyes had taken across to the other side of the room. “These are Dr McCoy’s manuscripts! Oh, I have been desperate to read these for ages. I’ve heard such wonderful things about his research into mutations, but I had given up hope that I would ever be able to read his work for myself. Oh, my King- this… this is astonishing!”

Abruptly, Charles stopped where he stood with his back to Erik, realising he had grabbed one of the manuscripts he had been raving about and he was clutching it between his fingers.

Erik had not specifically said Charles could touch anything. Charles had presumed that he was free to use the library, but what if he was wrong? What if Erik really had only wanted to show off all the things that he owned, things that Charles was not permitted to use? What if the King was now upset with him?

Swallowing a large lump in his throat, Charles carefully placed the finely bound manuscript back on the shelf in front of him as he slowly turned around to face Erik, trying to prepare himself for a look of thunder on Erik’s face, perhaps accompanied by a tightening of the cuffs around Charles’ wrists. To Charles’ surprise, however, Erik did not seem angry at all. He seemed… thoughtful. Contemplative. And perhaps a little fond.

Regardless, Charles was keen to show contrition.

“I’m… my sincerest apologies,” Charles said, dropping his eyes in submission. “You did not grant me permission to touch your belongings. I presumed, my King, and I should not have done so.”

For a while there was silence, and Charles couldn’t help but marvel at how the walls of the library apparently shielded it from the noise of world outside, almost like it was designed for optimum peace and serenity. Charles kept his eyes fixed faithfully on the floor, his hands folded behind his back, watching and waiting as Erik took a few careful steps forward, until he seized Charles gently under the chin and tilted his gaze upwards.

“Why would you believe I would not allow you to touch my possessions?” Erik asked softly, his eyes intense and piercing. “I have told you before Charles that I wish for you to be comfortable here; I want you to enjoy your new home. Do you really think I would bring you here simply to show you what you cannot have? What must you think of me…”

Charles felt a small prickle of guilt at his presumption, but what did the King expect him to think given the circumstances of their relationship, if it could even be called such? Erik was so much like a riddle that Charles felt as though he was constantly second-guessing himself when it came to Erik’s motivations.

“I apologise…” Charles said again, shivering slightly in the wake of Erik’s thumb gently brushing against his jawline. “However, I simply do not know what to think. I do not wish to be impertinent, Sire, but I have no reason to presume any courtesy from you, even if you have been kind to me thus far. Other rulers would not be so gracious…”

Instantly, Erik’s eyes darkened; a flicker of something unreadable passing across his expression.

“You refer to Emperor Shaw- am I correct, Charles? I am nothing like that… _that man.”_

With a squeeze of Charles’ chin, which was just on the verge of being painful, Erik loosened his grip, stepping back from Charles and avoiding his eyes, and Charles couldn’t help but feel like he had offended Erik in some way. Charles knew Erik and Shaw were enemies who had warred several times- most recently over Britannia- and that Erik would understandably feel animosity towards him, but the look in Erik’s eyes and the way his hands were shaking slightly suggested that the issue ran deeper than Charles could possibly know.

“My King…” Charles said slowly, feeling like he wanted to make amends in some way but not knowing what to say. But before Charles had chance to consider the words too extensively, Erik was shaking his head and turning away from Charles towards the nearest bookshelf.

“Charles, this library is yours to use as you wish. Please consider it as your own. There will be times when you are expected to be at my side, times when I will command your presence and you _will_ obey, but I know you are well aware that I have many duties that I must perform and they will mean that I cannot always keep your company. I have taken this day off in order to spend it fully with you, but going forward I will not be able to give you my full attention for such lengthy periods of time. And so, I would like for you to be able to amuse yourself in the manner of your choosing. I had heard that you were very intelligent, very well-read, and so I wished to bring you here so you would see that I do not intend for you just to sit and wait for me each day like some mindless drone. Your mind is like a living creature, Charles- it should be fed.”

It was everything Charles had never presumed to hope for from his life with the King- the confirmation that he would still be allowed to be his own self; that he could have some sort of life outside of Erik’s bed and continue to feel something like a _real person_ , rather than just a slave.

“Thank you…” Charles replied softly, staring hard at the King and wondering how someone who had been so direct and commanding in the bedroom could seem so shy now, almost like he had offered a gift to Charles and he feared it would be rejected. “My King, this is… this is appreciated. Thank you.”

Erik didn’t move at all, other than to offer a slight shrug, and Charles found himself needing to express his gratitude further; to make sure the King knew how much Charles appreciated what he had offered. And so, Charles stepped forward without comment, grasping Erik’s hand and bending to press his lips to it. It was a gesture Charles had performed numerous times in his life when he had interacted with various ranks of nobility, but, as Charles lifted his gaze to meet Erik’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel like this time it meant so much more. Though Charles was certain no amount of books would ever make him feel completely at ease with the idea of spreading his legs in servitude, he was comforted by the knowledge that Erik at least seemed to be a decent man.

“Thank you, my King,” Charles said again.

“Bitte schön…” Erik murmured, staring down at Charles thoughtfully.

 

After the library, Charles began to feel slightly more at ease- aided by the fact that, wherever they went, the King would nod politely and acknowledge the various folk who greeted him. Charles had known men and women of high nobility who would shun everyone they deemed as being beneath them; an arrogance and discourtesy that Charles could not abide. Fortunately, Erik appeared to be rather more considerate of the people who resided in his kingdom, something that reassured and comforted Charles, not least because of the _types_ of people they came across…

Although Charles knew the King was a mutant, he had no reason to expect that Erik would be courteous toward other mutated individuals- god knew, Charles had seen his fair share of internalised mutantphobia… But to Charles’ pleasant surprise a vast proportion of Erik’s subjects appeared to be mutants, as evidenced by long horns and scaly skin and multicoloured eyes. Not only that, they all seemed unabashed when it came to using their abilities, and Charles was thrilled to see young children playing together in the courtyard, engaging in what seemed like a rather unfair game of tag considering one of the children had the power to clone himself in order to provide a substantial advantage. Charles couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, and he turned around to find Erik wearing a similarly amused expression.

By the time Charles had been shown around the majority of the space within the immediate castle walls it was lunchtime, and Charles was soon seated with Erik in a large room, both at one end of a long table. Charles watched in barely-concealed awe as various plates and dishes were bought out for them to enjoy, offering foods which appeared to be of greater quality than Charles had ever seen before. Whilst Charles knew he came from a rather privileged background and he had never wanted for anything to eat, he now found himself thinking that the meals served in Britannia were rather paltry in comparison to the King’s wares, and he couldn’t help but eagerly try each dish, trying hard not to moan in pleasure at the new flavours tantalising his tongue.

At one point, Charles realised that he may not have been doing a very good job of containing his noises of enjoyment, as he found the King looking at him with certain interest in his eyes- the kind Charles was already becoming all too accustomed to. Charles half expected to be hauled off his chair by his cuffs and commanded to his knees but, to Charles’ surprise, Erik simply reached under the table to squeeze Charles’ knee before resuming his meal. However, the look of desire in his eyes still remained, making Charles feel rather like the King was building up to something…

After lunch, Charles followed as Erik led them toward the stables, delighted that his tour was going to include the castle grounds. This area of Genosha was well known for its soaring mountains and pristine forests, undisturbed by industry- lush with thick evergreens, dotted with crystalline lakes, and teeming with wildlife. In summer and winter, it was the envy of the known world. Charles thanked the stable boy as he was helped up onto a large black horse that huffed and riled a little under Charles’ weight, until Erik stroked one large hand down its side to steady it. Charles sat atop the horse waiting for another to be brought out for Erik, but then Erik heaved himself up onto the same horse as Charles, so that he was pressed rather firmly against Charles’ back. The more intelligent part of Charles felt like he should have seen this coming...

 

It was for perhaps an hour that Erik guided the horse, taking Charles along gurgling streams and up rolling hills footing the adjacent mountain range as he showed him all of the land that was his. It almost agitated Charles how oddly comforting it was to be held by Erik, pressed up against him with Erik’s strong arms around his waist, even as he found himself reminded of the fact that not all of Erik’s embraces would be as near-platonic as this. All throughout the journey Charles could feel the King’s crotch pressed up against him, occasionally becoming decidedly firm as they rocked against each other on the bumpy journey, but other than the occasional kiss pressed to the back of Charles’ neck there were no suggestive touches from Erik, and Charles was left to wonder why the King was suddenly so self-disciplined.

By late afternoon, the sun was high in the sky, shining down upon Charles and Erik as they rode further away from the castle. Charles was beginning to feel a little too hot in his fine clothes, not that he was going to voluntarily remove them in front of Erik, so he couldn’t help but be grateful when Erik suggested they take a break to rest in the shade of a large oak tree.

Charles sat down upon the soft ground, running his fingers through blades of grass and enjoying the simple pleasure of being out in nature, rather than cooped up and chained to a bed as he’d presumed he might be for the rest of his life. There was a bright yellow wildflower amidst the bed of grass, and Charles carefully plucked it before turning it between his fingertips, and looking up to find the King watching him, of course.

“Thank you for today,” Charles said sincerely. “It has truly been wonderful. I appreciate you showing me your kingdom- it is beautiful.”

Though it could easily be presumed that Charles’ words were given to flatter, as Charles looked to the side at the scene before him, at sloping green hills giving way to streams and babbling brooks amassing together as they led down to the sea that sparkled in the distance like a sapphire, Charles knew he meant it.

“You’re welcome, Charles. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” Charles replied as he turned back towards Erik, surprising himself with how much he meant it. _At least for now._ His new purpose was never far from his thoughts, but at least it appeared his life would be a great deal better than he’d hoped.

For a moment, Charles and Erik continued to gaze at each other, and then the King’s expression turned thoughtful once more.

“Charles… Although this land is beautiful, you are no fool. You endured what happened in your homeland and you know that no place is without danger. Though I have won many of the wars that have raged in the past, and perhaps on account of it, I have enemies, people that would want to hurt me, and by extension- you.”

“Yes, I realise that,” Charles replied, thinking of Shaw.

“For as long as you stay with me you will be under my protection, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about what could happen on those occasions when I’m not there. I know that you are no wilting flower, but there are people out there who are vicious, dangerous, and they would do anything they thought might hurt me to get to me.”

“And so…” Erik continued, rising to his knees on the grass and reaching behind himself into the folds of his tunic. “I made this for you.”

Charles watched, intrigued, as Erik withdraw a sheathed item from his belt, holding it with both hands and offering it to Charles who took it from him gingerly. At first, Charles simply trailed his fingers over the soft leather of the carrying case, admiring the fine needlework, before curiosity took over and he removed that which was held inside.

Charles couldn’t help but gasp as he withdrew the item- a fine dagger, the handle of which was adorned with various swirls and patterns in gold and silver. The craftmanship was remarkable, and though Charles undoubtedly knew that Erik had numerous skilled people within his employ who could make a similar item, he instinctively knew that this was something made by the King himself. For him.

“This is… this is extraordinary…” Charles breathed in awe as he ran a fingertip down an intricate swirl, and noted its similarity to the patterns on the cuffs he was wearing. “Your mutation is remarkable.”

However, it was not just the dagger itself that was remarkable, or the power Erik possessed to create it, it was the fact that Erik was trusting him with a weapon. A weapon Charles could turn on the King at a moment’s notice. No matter how powerful the King’s mutation was, anyone could be caught off guard and Charles knew, should he really put his mind to it, he’d be clever enough to find a way- not that he’d ever dream of doing such a thing. In sleep, in the bed they appeared to share, the King would be particularly vulnerable. It was an incredible act of trust; a faith in Charles that he wouldn’t turn on Erik and stab him in his sleep.

“Thank you, my King…” Charles said softly, looking up from the blade to meet Erik’s eyes once more.

“I wish you to feel safe,” Erik said. “However, I also want to know you can defend yourself. Granted, it would be better if you utilised your telepathy, as I know you could easily protect yourself that way… But until you are ready to do so I would like you to keep this dagger with you at all times- is that understood?”

“Yes,” Charles replied quickly. “Yes, Sire, I will.”

“Good,” Erik said, flashing Charles a brief, satisfied smile. After that Charles was half-expecting the King to demand a kiss, or some _other form_ of gratitude, but he simply lay down upon the grass and motioned for Charles to lay beside him.

 

When they returned to the castle it was with the fading light of day, and by the time Charles was sat once more with Erik at the same long table as before, night had set in. Charles consumed his dinner eagerly, though declining Erik’s offers of wine, beer, or other various spirits, and by the time he was walking with Erik back to the King’s living quarters he felt suitably sated.

The day had been extraordinary and surprising in so many ways. In the end, it had felt a bit like… being courted. It was the way of many wealthy rulers- show off their great wealth, bestow gifts, and provide the finest food- do what they could to entice you to rule at their side. Charles had been in such a position a several times before, but he’d had no interest in leaving his beloved Britannia to co-rule a different land. He had been too young to take the title of ‘First ’ after his father’s death, but had always known that, one day, he would take his rightful place as ruler of Britannia.

Instead, Charles soon found himself once again facing what would be his ‘rightful place’ for the rest of his life, or until the King tired of him- Erik’s ridiculously large bed.

How naive he had been...

As he stared at it, all the favourable feelings Charles had slowly amassed toward Erik over the course of the day began to dissipate. What was the King playing at by courting him? There was no need- Charles was his no matter how he was treated. It was more than clear at this point that Erik was not an abusive man who got off on using his power and wealth to be cruel to others, but that did not necessitate the King being as kind and giving as he had been throughout the day.

“It has been a long day, Charles. I think we should retire, don’t you?”

The King’s voice sounded from somewhere behind him and Charles turned. The look in Erik’s eyes was no longer soft and thoughtful as it had been for most of the day, but was instead clouded once again with unmistakable desire. As the the King stepped forward, he undid the belt cinching his tunic to his body and Charles watched as it dropped unceremoniously to the floor. The thud it made as it hit the ground sounded so very final. A few more steps and Erik was very much in Charles’ personal space.

“Well, Charles?”

His throat was tight, but he managed, “Yes, my King.”

Soft and thoughtful. Predatory and obscene.

The King was study in contrasts.

Erik reached up and slid a finger down Charles’ jawline. “Do you not wish to show your King your gratitude? Just how thankful for today are you, Charles?”

Charles’ stomach bottomed out, twisting quickly into a sickness that he fought to keep out of his expression. Was this what today had been for? Suddenly everything that had seemed generous and good felt dirty and stained. A favour for a favour. It was no secret the King wanted him to be a willing and eager participant, and this was apparently the way he thought he would get it- buying him off with fine things. What Charles had thought might be genuine… Oh, how naive he still was.

Something hardened inside him, and Charles was glad the question turned out to be rhetorical because he wasn’t sure he could speak right then.

Erik continued: “You’re going to show me just how appreciative you can be, Liebling.” His hand slid back into Charles’ hair and tugged. “You’re going to put your hands and mouth on my body and you’re going to make me come.” Without warning, he pressed his mouth to Charles’, tongue sweeping in deep, claiming once again. When he was done, Erik finished by saying: “You’re going to do so good…” the words like a promise- or a threat- murmured against Charles’ lips.

Erik stepped back before he turned and moved toward the bed. As he moved, he lifted his tunic and undershirt off in one graceful movement, his back muscles flexing, and Charles distantly noted his back was as marred with battle scars as his chest. Last night, he had thought on the King’s strength and survival, today his thoughts were less generous. The King also removed his boots, but left his trousers on and Charles supposed he would once again have the honour of removing them. Erik settled himself on the bed, pushing back the curtains and maneuvering himself until he was reclining against the headboard, looking expectantly at Charles.

It was deja vu.

Only, this time, Charles knew what the King wanted.

Feeling bought and paid for, Charles undid his own belt. Unlike Erik, he placed it gently down on the coffee table, not wanting to show any disrespect toward the ‘gifts’ he had been given- his ingrained sense of politeness forbade that. Doubting that the King would want him fully clothed for what would follow, next Charles carefully removed the beautiful blue tunic and undergarment, laying them atop the belt with no less gentleness. Charles spent a short moment debating whether or not to keep his trousers and underwear on before finally deciding to give the King everything he was owed- everything he owned. Fingers that shook less than the night before but were not quite steady unlaced the ties in the front. Then, with a slowness that had more to do with continued trepidation than with wanting to give the King a show, Charles pushed everything down past his ankles and stepped out of it. Straightening, he really felt no more at ease being naked than he had that morning, but found he cared somewhat less. Perhaps that was because his role felt suddenly much clearer.

Charles took what he hoped were steady steps toward the bed, keeping his eyes on the King's as he'd already been instructed to do so many times.

"Your body..." the King murmured as Charles moved forward. "So gorgeous. I think I could get off just from looking at you." Erik palmed his own growing erection once, before resting his hands behind his head. Waiting.

Charles hated that he couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him. To be the object of such a gaze, such blatant desire from a person of nobility- a King... Before he could succumb Charles pushed such thoughts forcibly away. No, he was a whore- it was clear that he was to be a pampered whore, but a whore nonetheless, and he must never forget it.

Charles reached the edge of the bed. With each step he'd taken the King's gaze had grown hungrier, roving over his body as eagerly as his hands had that morning. Charles did not know what Erik saw, but whatever it was he clearly liked it.

As if it were Erik who were the mind reader, he said: "Your skin, Liebling, it's perfect. I will enjoy marking every flawless inch of it as mine. With my hands, my tongue, my teeth..." The King paused to grin. " _My come_. Every bit of you will shudder with pleasure at my touch."

As though he were fulfilling a prophecy Charles shivered again at the King's words, even as he knew every bit of him would fight to prevent them from coming true. He would not take pleasure from the King. Like many famous courtesans of the past, he would play the part- he would act, and nothing more. He would give access to his ‘flawless’ skin to mar as the King pleased and instead of the expensive jewels and fine gowns demanded by courtesans, Erik would reward him with other things, such as the finest food Charles had ever eaten.

Charles had paused at the edge of the bed, almost subconsciously.

"Liebling..."

The cuffs tightened gently, but enough. They spurred Charles to climb onto the bed and crawl up to Erik. Deja vu. Again. This time, at least, he'd made it onto the bed more or less of his own volition. Charles sat back on his heels, tried to ignore how exposed and vulnerable the posture left him feeling, crossed his wrists behind his back, and kept his eyes on Erik's.

"My King?"

"As I said..." Erik brushed his thumb across Charles' mouth, then trailed his hand down to grasp one of Charles' arms and bring it forward. He pressed a kiss to Charles' palm, flicked his tongue across it, and then released his hold.

Right. His mouth and hands.

Charles may not have been a practiced courtesan yet, but it was time to show the King he was willing to learn. He would pleasure the King's body; work him to orgasm day after day for the illusion of freedom on the castle grounds.

Swallowing his pride, his naïveté, Charles swung his leg over Erik so that he could straddle the King's thighs, avoiding being pressed up against Erik's crotch where there was already a sizeable bulge. Without the King maneuvering his body for him, Charles knew he would need time to work himself up to initiating such intimate contact.

As he settled himself, Charles had only one thought- “ _Now what?”_

Did the King enjoy foreplay? To have his body kissed and caressed? Would he want Charles to linger over spots that made him moan? Or, would he expect Charles to get straight to it and wrap his hand or his lips around that sizeable length and bring him straight to completion?

As Charles dwelled on the subject the King startled him by letting out an amused snort.

"Charles, I can practically see you thinking... Wherever you touch me, however you touch me, I can assure you I'm going to enjoy it," Erik said with a pointed eyebrow raise. He laughed, before adding: "Trust me, you will know when I do. And, if I do not, I will tell you and no harm will come to you."

Erik’s words loosened something in Charles he did not know he was holding- a worry of which he had not yet been fully cognizant. The King had already assured him, more than once, that physical pain would not be the way he would get what he wanted from Charles, nor would it be the way he would show his displeasure. It seemed then it would be this- Erik would spur Charles on with soft words and gentle persuasion; all of it measured and careful, all of it manipulative...

Charles let his hands come to rest on the King's shoulders, letting his eyes fall from Erik's so that he could see what he was doing. He trailed his fingers down until he could take Erik's nipples between his thumb and forefinger and pinch. The King's breath hitched just slightly in response, so Charles pinched again, but a bit harder and looked up to further gauge his reaction.

The King looked pleased. "Good, Charles..."

Pain... the King liked it, at least a little bit. Not wishing to push that avenue of exploration any further for the moment, Charles decided to try his mouth next. He leaned down and, after the barest moment of hesitation, swept his tongue across one of the nipples he had just pinched. After a corresponding hum of pleasure from his King, Charles moved to the other- giving it the same treatment. Erik's hands had moved to rest on Charles’ shoulders, not guiding in any way, but squeezing lightly, encouragingly. Charles licked again and again- sometimes shorter flicks and other times longer sweeps, every now and then throwing in a hint of teeth. He noted each moan, each shiver, each short breath from the body beneath him- reassuring himself with the idea that the interaction was almost like a scientific experiment; a study in responsiveness. As it turned out, the King was sensitive.

"You do learn fast, don't you, Charles?" Erik released the words on the tail end of another heated moan. "That's good. Oh, that's very good. I can only imagine what that clever tongue of yours will do with more practice.”

Erik's length was straining now against the confines of his trousers, brushing occasionally against Charles' abdomen as he worked, yet he did not press Charles to get on with it. It was becoming evident that the King liked build up, and perhaps even to be teased. However, Charles was torn. On the one hand, he could continue such teasing- explore other relatively 'safe' areas of the King's body like his neck and abdomen and avoid, for as long as possible, the place he knew he would have to inevitably end up. On the other hand, no matter how long Charles stalled there was no avoiding it- at some point very soon he knew he was going to have to crawl down Erik’s taut body, lie between the King’s legs, wrap his lips around Erik's cock, and suck.

It was an entirely different act than what had transpired the night before. Then, Charles’ mouth been used, been fucked. Erik had guided, taken what he wished, and Charles had needed only to let it happen- to obey. Today, Charles had to give, to engage- to blow his King.

Charles mentally cursed his slight tremble as he repositioned himself sitting on his knees beside Erik, hands shaking as he reached over and grasped hold of the laces at the front of Erik’s trousers. With a few quick flicks of Charles’ wrist the laces were undone, and Erik was clearly only too keen to lift his hips so that Charles could pull the trousers down, freeing the King’s large cock which sprang up far too eagerly to rest against his stomach. Erik’s member was as uncompromising as the rest of him- it commanded all of Charles’ attention, and Charles knew he was obligated to serve it.

There was little room for hesitation as Charles repositioned himself between the King's legs, pressing kisses into the surprisingly tender flesh of Erik’s chest and stomach as he did so. He stalled again at the King's hip as he laved the area with his tongue. He could do this. He would do this. He had to do this. He had agreed to it-- no force, no coercion, it had always been his choice.

Charles opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head of Erik’s cock, and the King's responding groan was guttural.

Emboldened by his determination to fulfill his duty to his people, Charles took in a little more and then licked his way back up- focusing on swirling his tongue around the sensitive head before he slid his mouth back down. Erik's hands had made their way into Charles' hair- not holding him in place, not forcing him down further, just carding through it and occasionally fisting when Charles’ rhythm grew particularly pleasing; encouraging without guiding, as always. Charles focused on the motions of his tongue and his lips, the suction of his mouth, how far and the speed with which he could move up and down the length. He did not take Erik’s member particularly deep, not wanting to gag as he had when Erik had fucked his mouth previously, but Erik did not seem to mind. The King moans were as filthy as the words that came out of his mouth, they were without abandon, and he revelled brazenly in Charles' movements.

"Liebling," Erik breathed, voice rough with obvious pleasure. "Your lips. _Fuck_. Your lips are red and obscene at the best of times- you should see them stretched so prettily around my cock."

Charles' face heated, as it had every time before. No one who had ever taken Charles to bed had spoken to him as the King did.

Not wishing to prolong this any longer than necessary Charles redoubled his efforts, repeating each movement the King had seemed to enjoy most, and it indeed brought Erik closer. The hands carding through his hair began to fist continually. The breaths escaping his mouth became faster. The muscles in his hips were taut where Charles held them- evidence that the King was trying not to thrust. Erik wanted Charles to see this through, that much was clear.

" _Mein Gott_ \- your mouth, wet, so wet, so hot. The way you suck. Your mouth was made for this. Fuck. Gott. Suck me, Liebling. Suck me. Fuck, make me come. I want to spill into that pretty mouth."

Charles fisted the area his mouth did not yet reach, closing his fingers tightly around Erik’s sizeable length and feeling it almost pulse under his grasp. It took only three strokes and the King came with a harsh moan, hips bucking upward and filling Charles' mouth and throat with his seed. He waited for the last pulse before pulling free, swallowing it down like a good boy.

Had he performed well enough to earn his beloved books? His manuscripts?

Charles settled back on his ankles, crossed his wrists behind his back, and met the King's eyes once more. It was tempting to ask to be excused, or even just to run to the bathroom without waiting for permission first, but Charles knew he couldn’t do that. There was nowhere in this castle that Charles would be able to hide, least of all within the King’s chambers, and so resistance was pointless.

After Erik’s heavy breathing had been restored to a somewhat normal level, he lay there looking at Charles, running his eyes over Charles’ body slowly. Charles didn’t think he was imagining the way Erik’s brow creased with a slight frown as he regarded Charles’ cock- still mercifully soft. What did Erik really expect? That Charles would be so unbelievably turned on by sucking on the King’s cock that he’d become instantly erect? The notion was almost laughable, but perhaps went some way toward enlightening him on Erik’s view of their current situation. Charles tried not to wonder how Erik might react if he continued not to become aroused by their encounters. He needed to remain in the here and the now.

“You can get dressed for bed now, if you wish,” Erik said, pulling Charles from thought. “There’s some nightwear for you over there on the dresser.”

Charles turned, taking in the sight of the large wooden armoire across the room and the small bundle of clothes he could see upon it. Without hesitation, Charles rose from the bed and wandered over towards it, trying to ignore the way he could practically feel Erik’s eyes on his bare buttocks, and when he reached the dresser his mouth parted in surprise as he noticed something he hadn’t expected to see there.

On the surface of the armoire, next to the pile of clothing, were several large, finely bound books. Charles recognised the titles instantly- they were ones he had gazed at in interest earlier when Erik had shown him the library, and though Erik had said at the time that Charles was free to read the books at his leisure, Charles hadn’t expected that they would be so readily available him to now. The bedroom was where Charles was required to perform his duties- to pleasure Erik, to lay himself bare and let the King touch and fuck him. It was not where Charles had been expecting to do any sort of reading.

Charles turned to regard the bed, finding Erik watching him carefully.

“Thank you… my King,” Charles said softly.

Erik shrugged, though the expression on his face betrayed the fact that his nonchalance was an act. Why Erik would feel compelled to perform any sort of ruse for Charles, Charles was unsure.

Without saying anything further Charles picked up the clothing and hurried over to the bathroom, taking time to shower- presuming that Erik would allow it- before dressing in his nightwear and returning to the bedroom. When Charles reentered Erik was half-covered by the sheets, and he looked over at Charles expectantly as he walked into the room.

“Come here, Liebling,” Erik requested.

Charles crossed the room as Erik drew back the sheets to allow Charles to crawl into the bed, and then Charles was lying down beside Erik, snugly tucked into Erik’s side as Erik reached an arm around him. For a moment, Charles wondered if it was possible that Erik might be ready for another round of some lewd act or another, but mercifully it seemed like Erik was sated for the time being.

It was impossible not to shiver as Erik leaned over, his breath hot against Charles’ ear as he whispered: “Today has been wonderful, Liebling. I’m very pleased with you. I hope we have many more days like this to come.” Then he placed a quick kiss to Charles’ cheek before he settled down against the pillows, and Charles heard the sound of the candles in the room being put out by metal snuffers, plunging the room into a near darkness. The day had exhausted him and for once Charles had no desire to think. He let the dim moonlight, the pillowy softness of the bed, and the steady rhythm of the King’s heart lull him into a sound sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> We'd love to continue to hear what you think of King Erik and their relationship as it continues to develop.
> 
> Also, please feel free to leave anon comments here or anon cherikyassss (FuryRed) or myself (pinkoptics) on tumblr if you'd like to comment or ask questions about this fic! We've come to realize some of you aren't quite as brazen as Fury and I. *g*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things might get a little bit worse for Charles before they get better... But they will get better soon, we promise!

If the first full day with Erik had been the indication of what Charles’ new life would be like, the following weeks were the confirmation.

Charles awoke each morning and within seconds he remembered where he was, whose bed he was in, who he belonged to… At first, Charles would awake to find the King already conscious, though still lying next to Charles- almost as though Erik was trying to ensure he didn’t wake him, but as the days went on, Charles increasingly found Erik already out of bed and beginning to start his day. Erik’s morning routine seemed to consist of a series of exercises- suggesting to Charles that Erik’s physical prowess was maintained outside of the battlefield- and after completion Erik would take a short shower.

After he was washed, Erik would re-enter the bedroom completely and unashamedly naked, and Charles would often lie in bed, internally debating how long Erik would leave him there before he demanded to be serviced. As it turned out, the King was prepared to be patient. He never commanded Charles to get out of bed, and never hauled him out forcefully. Instead, he would sit and wait- often in the seating area in front of the fire, sometimes on the edge of the bed- until Charles was ready.

When Charles did manage to draw himself out from under luxurious silk sheets, the routine was largely the same. Evidently, Erik’s sexual appetite was insatiable, and he liked to start his morning by coming in one way or another, suggesting that- for at least this moment in time- sex with Charles was more a basic need than eating or drinking. Sometimes, Erik would want to take charge, and he would instruct Charles to lie down on the bed so he could rut against him, or get to his knees on the floor so that Erik could fuck his mouth. Other times, Erik would want to be pleasured, and he would lie back on the bed like he did that first day and watch as Charles brought him off using his hands and mouth. Every time, there would always be a litany of lustful approval coming from Erik’s lips- words that were essentially complimentary but that made Charles blush more than the actual sexual acts did- and Charles couldn’t help but notice the contrast between how the King was perceived in Genosha- as a man of few words, all of which were carefully selected- and how he was in the bedroom; a man who groaned and writhed and praised Charles with filthy words in more languages than Charles realised he knew.

After Charles fulfilled his duty each morning, he was permitted to bathe in a manner of his choosing, and then he would join the King for breakfast. They would always speak whilst they ate, though at first Charles struggled to hold up his end of the conversation- constantly feeling like he was being evaluated, and if he said the wrong thing he risked Erik’s disapproval. Gradually, however, Charles began to engage more, even if he stuck to fairly neutral topics such as the weather and idle gossip about the people of Genosha, until Charles began to realise that, for whatever reason, Erik was actually interested in what he had to say.

Erik had said it before- that Charles was not expected to be just some mindless sex pet whose mouth was only good for filling- but Charles continued to have a hard time believing it. Erik wouldn’t have been the first person Charles had met to say one thing and mean another- his telepathy had always confirmed that much- but now, with it deactivated, Charles had no real way of understanding Erik’s intentions. He could not help but often think that everything would be so much simpler if Charles were to engage his mutation once more, but at the same time it would make things harder too. And so, as the days wore on, Charles maintained his conviction, and tried to learn from Erik’s words and actions rather than by reading his mind- almost like he was studying how to speak in an entirely new language.

Though the morning routine may have stayed generally the same, the day time was when it differed. On that first day, when Erik had shown Charles around the Kingdom, he had told him that it was a one-off; that he could not spare so much time for Charles going forward, and it certainly seemed to be the case. As ruler of Genosha, Erik had many important responsibilities to fulfill, just as Charles had once had as the First Son of Britannia. They were responsibilities for which Erik did not want his participation, nor even wished him to watch, in spite of Charles’ own status of nobility. And so, Charles became accustomed to lengthy periods of time in which Erik remained behind closed doors, meeting with his advisors and planning for Genosha’s future- politically, financially, socially, culturally- and though Charles had little idea of what they discussed, he couldn’t help being curious.

Back in Britannia, even though Charles had never officially taken on the title of First and therefore the responsibilities that came with it, he had still taken an active interest in the daily duties that ensured the community continued to run efficiently. In truth, Charles knew he could often be relied upon more than his mother or stepfather, and he became accustomed to the townsfolk approaching him for his counsel and help in resolving their issues. It had been something Charles had always enjoyed, and part of him was disappointed, though unsurprised, to realise that he would have no such role within his new residence. Whatever Erik was doing each day, it was clearly not something that Charles was going to be involved in, and so Charles tried to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t needed, and endeavoured to find other things to do to occupy his time.

Although Charles was undeniably curious about the world outside the bedroom he shared with Erik, he still held doubts about whether he was truly allowed to explore it. Erik had told Charles that he was free to go wherever he liked, but... there was still a part of Charles that couldn’t help but be somewhat nervous on the first occasion he stepped outside the confines of the bedroom without the King. However, unwilling to engage in self-imprisonment, Charles forced himself wander slowly along the halls of the castle, dropping his gaze every time he passed someone coming the other way.  However, after being most often met with a polite “Morning, your Grace” in response to his presence, Charles began to feel more assured, and by the time he reached the library he was walking with his head held higher and smiling at the servants he passed.

As soon as Charles had left the bedroom that morning, he’d known the library was where he would end up. He’d been completely enthralled when Erik had presented that space to him. Though Erik had already, rather thoughtfully, ensured that there was reading material within the bedroom for Charles to peruse, Charles still wanted the opportunity to fully explore the library by himself.

Charles’ greatest joy had always been reading, and it wasn’t long before he became completely engrossed in all the amazing texts on offer. After spending perhaps an hour scanning the titles of all of the books available and making a note of which ones to come back to, Charles had selected a handful of volumes and had taken up residence in an over large, ridiculously luxurious armchair to read. Very quickly, Charles’ thirst for the written word took him over, and the next time Charles lifted his head from the pages was when he heard the door opening, and he looked up to see the King entering the room.

Immediately Charles tensed, feeling apprehensive that- in spite of Erik’s explicit permission- the King might be irritated that he’d found Charles in the library rather than waiting for him in bed. But, to Charles’ relief, there was a ghost of a smile on Erik’s face as he wandered over to where Charles was sitting.

“I might have known I’d find you here…” Erik said good-naturedly. “Have you indeed spent the entire day reading?”

Charles hedged. “Perhaps... What time is it?”

“Nearly dinnertime”.

“Oh!” Charles exclaimed, immediately clamping the book he was holding shut and sitting up straight in the chair. “My King, I’m so sorry- I must have completely lost track of time”.

Erik chuckled. “It’s fine, Charles- please, relax. I told you I wished for you to enjoy yourself here and I meant it, so if reading is what you want to do then you are welcome to. My only concern is that you might become too preoccupied with devouring books to properly look after yourself… Tell me, have you eaten?”

“No, sire…” Charles said quietly, abruptly realising that there was a definite empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, now that his mind was no longer consumed by the written word.

“Mm, well we can’t have that…” Erik replied thoughtfully. “Next time, please let one of the servants know when you will be attending the library, and I’ll ensure they check in on you and that you are provided with frequent cups of tea as well as lunch.”

Charles inclined his head, trying not to let his continual surprise at the King’s attentiveness show on his face. “Thank you, my King. I will.”

“Excellent,” Erik smiled. “Now, shall we eat?”

 

Though the days varied for Charles, the nights remained the same. Whatever business Erik was conducting was always concluded by dinnertime, and he would sit down with Charles to enjoy a meal. There were never any other guests present at dinner, only Charles and Erik themselves, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder if it meant that, prior to his arrival, the King had always dined alone. The more cynical part of himself provided images of others like him- gorgeous men, gorgeous women- who had likely fulfilled the King’s appetite for sex and company before Charles’ arrival. How many had there been? How long would it be before the King desired someone new? What would become of him then?

Over dinner, Erik and Charles would engage in conversation, though Erik rarely discussed what had occupied his day. He would often skirt around the subject- dropping hints and bits of information, almost as though he wanted to speak completely openly with Charles but that he wasn’t permitted to do so. Of course, given that Erik was King he could undoubtedly do whatever he wanted, so Charles reasoned that it may not be so much that Erik wasn’t permitted, but that he was wary. Still very much figuring out his place outside the bedroom as in it, Charles did not really know what, if anything, he was allowed to say about the daily runnings of the Kingdom of Genosha, and so he mostly smiled politely and offered the sort of feedback that let Erik know he was listening without saying much of substance.

Fortunately, there was at least one thing that Charles and Erik could discuss freely.

“What was worthy of your attention today?” Erik asked, and there was a hint of a smile in his voice, as much as there was in the upturn of the corner of the King’s mouth.

“Doctor McCoy’s comparative research into individuals with mutation and those without. How one comes to have a mutation is so little understood. One would think lineage would provide the strongest indicating factor, but like many I am the child of two non-mutants, as I believe you are, but he has discovered that it is equally as likely that two mutant parents are able to produce a non-mutant offspring…”

Over dinner, Erik always took the time to ask Charles about his day- which to begin with consisted mostly of sitting in the library, completely engrossed in the King’s extraordinary collection. At first, Charles had been reluctant to respond, not quite sure what would motivate Erik to be so interested in hearing about what he had read. However, Charles couldn’t help but warm quickly to the subject.

“... It’s truly remarkable the amount of evidence McCoy has been able to amass not only here in Genosha but many neighbouring lands as well. This makes his findings all the more definitive. So much so I cannot believe how many out there continue to actively refute--” Charles abruptly cut off, realising it was quite possible he had been rambling about McCoy’s manuscript for a full five minutes, perhaps even ten, hardly pausing for a breath, let alone to eat his rapidly cooling dinner. “My King, I am sorry. I have monopolised the conversation. I did not mean--”

This time a wave of Erik’s hand, dismissing his apology, stemmed the tide of his words.

“Your passion excites me Charles, it has been a long while since I have had the company of someone with such a keen mind. Though you may be appalled to learn I am one who refutes McCoy’s findings on lineage.”

Charles balked. “You cannot be serious, Sire! Anyone with an intell--” His hand flew to his mouth, hoping to stop himself before his errant tongue had the audacity to insult the King further, but he had no chance to apologise again as the King simply laughed. A full bodied, joyful sound that Charles had not experienced before that moment.

“While I would not recommend calling my intelligence into question, do not for a moment do me the insult of simpering and agreeing with me purely because I’m your King. I cannot abide by that sort of false conduct.”

Charles had nearly needed to pick his jaw up off of the table at that moment. The egos of most of the nobility were notoriously large and exceedingly fragile. The King wished him to truly express his own opinions? Each dinner thereafter only served to confirm this fact, as they discussed and debated the merits of McCoy’s work, the symbolism of a literary work, or the bias of perspective in a historical document. Each debate disarmed him completely, for a moment forgetting where he now was, who he was, and to whom. However, the King never let him forget for long.

While Erik enjoyed Charles’ passionate conversation, there were some areas where Charles knew Erik wished he would be rather _more_ passionate… Each night, after dinner, Charles and Erik would return to Erik’s bedchambers, and though sometimes they would wile away the hours by reading or playing games of chess- which Charles quickly realised Erik was very skilled at- they would always end up in bed. Or at least near it.

As in the mornings, Charles would either find himself subject to Erik’s desires by way of being used as a means for Erik to get himself off, or by being required to pleasure Erik to completion. It became a part of Charles’ daily routine, as customary as washing or shaving, and each night Charles resigned himself to stripping off his clothes and performing his duty, knowing that once it was over Erik would permit him to sleep. Very quickly though it became clear that, although Erik was getting he wanted in a physical sense, he wasn’t entirely happy with Charles’ efforts…

There were times when, after Erik had came in Charles’ mouth or on his body, he would look at Charles, at his enduringly unaroused state, and the expression on his face would betray his disappointment. Charles did not understand it. Though Erik had said he wanted Charles to enjoy his life in the castle and he had mentioned pleasuring Charles more than once, Charles had not anticipated that Erik would be so concerned about his needs. Charles had been brought to the King as a sexual companion, to satisfy the King’s sexual needs, and if Charles was doing that- and the amount of times his face heated at the feeling of Erik’s hot come splashing against his skin he _was_ doing that- then why did Erik seem to want more?

Whatever questions Charles may have had about Erik’s apparent desires, he did not ask, and none of them were answered. Though Erik may have often given Charles a look that prompted further investigation he never said anything, and Charles was more than content to just let the issue go for as long as the King would permit.

 

As the weeks wore on, Charles began to find that, each day as the King busied himself with important duties, he gradually began to spend less and less time in the library. That same feeling of nervous anticipation Charles had on the first day he had gone out without Erik swept through him as he walked slowly outside of the castle, venturing into the courtyard and immediately getting caught up by the hubub of noise and colour all around him. As had been the case the last time Charles had been in this place, there were small mutant children running around playing, and Charles’ attention was immediately stolen as he stopped to watch them. It still warmed his heart to see that mutants were able to practise using their powers so freely, and it reminded Charles of the fact that Erik was clearly a gracious ruler.

Indeed, almost every aspect of Charles’ experience living within the castle confirmed the fact that Erik was not some tyrant who ruled over his subjects with an iron fist, and Charles saw more evidence as he explored the courtyard further. People were happy and content here, they were allowed to live in peace, and Charles could only think of the wars that had laid waste to the land in the years preceding King Erik’s rule, and felt grateful that those days were now over.

He often wandered through the bustling market in the corner of the castle grounds and explored the various stalls and tents located there. People fascinated Charles as much as books did and rarely did a place offer as much people watching as a market. There were also, of course, numerous wares on offer- fine foods, drinks, trinkets, toys- and Charles quickly realised that he had not thought to ask Erik for any money so that he could buy something. Apparently though it mattered not- one look at the gold bracelets adorning Charles’ wrists and people were more than happy to hand Charles anything he happened to look at, and though he refused most gifts- not wanting to take advantage- he did take receipt of one particularly delicious pastry, though he made himself a mental note to return with money to pay the vendor later.

As it happened though, Charles didn’t get the chance straight away. The following day, over breakfast, Erik explained that he had something else in mind.

“I will be hearing petitions from the people of the Kingdom today, Charles,” Erik said, sitting beside Charles on the sofa as they enjoyed their breakfast. “I would like you to join me, so that you may hear the comments of the people under my rule.”

Charles paused with a chunk of bread halfway to his mouth, eyes widening as he looked at Erik. “You wish me to accompany you?” he asked, feeling like he must have misunderstood.

Erik nodded. “That’s right, Charles. I would like you to attend the public forum that’s held each Friday. I feel it is one of the most important of my responsibilities- serving my people by helping them resolve any issues they are facing- so I want you to be there. Are you content to adhere to my wishes?”

Charles was taken aback, not by the question which was not really a question- of course he would attend if Erik wished it- but by Erik’s attitude. Most rulers found petitions to be the most tedious aspect of their rule, often shunting it off on a trusted advisor so they would not be bothered by the ‘trivial’ issues of the common people. Charles himself had performed this service in Britannia, as Sharon and Kurt could hardly be bothered. What they felt was an irritating chore, Charles had too seen as one of the most important functions he could perform for the Britannic people.  And so, Charles was eager to incline his head at Erik in a simple nod, before replying: “As you wish, my King.”

 

Although Charles tried his best to appear outwardly unaffected by Erik’s offer, inside he was undeniably thrilled about being granted such unexpected access to the runnings of the Kingdom. Though he doubted Erik would wish for his consultation, even bearing witness to the forum would prove interesting from a purely intellectual perspective. As they walked to the hall Charles wondered if Genoshan petitions would be similar to those in Britannia or if the issues people faced here were different. Undoubtedly, some things were universal, but he felt there were likely things particular to Genoshan custom and culture that he would now get to bear witness to first hand. He followed at the King’s side as Erik led him toward the throne room where the forum would be taking place. However, as soon as Charles arrived within the large hall, his stomach bottomed out with the realisation that he still had the capacity to be naive about his current place in life.

At the far end of the room, atop a series of wide steps, was a large, imposing-looking throne that had been crafted entirely from metal, most likely by Erik himself. It was not the throne which had caused his dismay but what he had found when he had turned to look around the rest of the space, finding that there was no other seating whatsoever.  Clearly, people who came to see the King would be required to stand at the base of the steps to speak to him, and this was typical of most kingdoms, however that left the question of where Charles would be expected to position himself during the meetings, and when Charles realised the answer he wanted to be sick.

Next to the metal throne, on the floor, there was a large, blue cushion- an undeniably fine furnishing most likely made of velvet, adorned with a series of delicate studs along each seam. It was only too clear what would be expected of Charles- he was not here to participate in any way, no, not even as a casual observer. Charles was here to sit at the King’s feet like a good boy- nothing more than a pretty little ornament representative of the King’s power in the empty room.

“Charles?”

At the sound of Erik’s voice Charles turned to look at him, finding Erik gazing down questioningly with a small hint of what looked like concern on his face. Evidently, the disappointment Charles was feeling was written in his expression, and though a part of Charles felt like telling Erik why he was upset, or perhaps asking to leave, he knew it wasn’t his place to question the King’s instruction. And so, after sucking in a steadying breath, Charles began to walk over towards the cushion where he was required to sit, mentally preparing himself for the humiliation of everyone seeing what the First Son of Britannia had been reduced to.

 

The next two hours were a dichotomy. Although Charles was undeniably interested in listening to each person who entered the room to speak to the King, he could not help but feel ashamed every time a visitor turned to look at him before immediately averting their gaze. For not the first time Charles knew he had made the right choice in cutting himself off from his power. He sat there quietly as Erik spoke to his subjects, Erik’s fingers idly stroking through Charles’ hair, feeling very much like the King’s prized pet- someone kept and owned. It was a comfort and confusion that Erik continued to be a very decent and objective ruler- presiding over the problems of the townspeople fairly and honestly- and Charles couldn’t help but feel a begrudging amount of respect for the King twined inexorably around his disappointment.

No matter how fairly and intelligently Erik dealt with the petitions, Charles’ humiliation could only grow having to watch the day’ events from his position sitting on the floor. Matters only became worse as the meeting wore on and Charles began to notice Erik becoming more lustful in his actions- his fingers sliding down the back of Charles’ neck and making Charles shiver in response. Charles knew the intent in the King’s touch by now, so it came as no surprise when Erik abruptly announced: “That’s enough for the day- please send the rest of the visitors away and leave the throne room.”

Charles remained sat on his cushion as the petitioners and then the guards stationed around the room slowly filtered out, closing the door firmly behind themselves so that Charles and Erik were left alone in the room. Erik’s fingers fisted more firmly in Charles’ hair, prompting Charles to turn to look up at Erik, and when he did the look of desire on the King’s face was incredibly obvious.

“I can’t resist anymore…” Erik murmured, his eyes trailing over Charles. “You look so beautiful sitting there- I couldn’t listen to one more request just knowing that you’re there waiting for me. My cock is full for you, Liebling. I need your mouth on me now.”

At Erik’s words, Charles immediately felt himself flush. Although he had become accustomed to Erik speaking to him with filthy words when they were inside the King’s chambers, Erik had never spoken to Charles like that outside of the bedroom, and Charles’ heart began to pound as he considered what Erik was asking for.

Yes, they were alone. Yes, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to see anything through the large, plain glass windows that spanned one wall of the throne room high to the ceiling, but it was still an undeniably public place- a place where anyone could walk it at any moment. Charles didn’t want to have to suck Erik’s cock in the middle of that room- in a place where someone could see. Was it possible that Erik wanted that? Had he asked the guards to keep others out? Or could high ranking nobles, generals, and advisors saunter in for a show? It was one of the last things Charles felt he could stomach, if at all, but this was not a question of want, it was a question of duty, and this was what Charles had volunteered himself to do.

After a further gentle tug of Charles’ hair he reluctantly began to move, shifting around to the front of the throne so that he was sitting directly in front of the King.

“Best to bring that cushion with you, Charles- I don’t want you to get sore knees,” Erik said with a smirk as he sat back in his chair, beginning to palm robustly at where his hard cock strained against the confines of his trousers. Charles closed his eyes and grit his teeth in frustration but did not comment, he just retrieved the cushion as instructed and positioned it underneath his knees.

As soon as Charles was suitably situated, Erik reached down and untied the laces at his crotch, before shifting in the throne as he pulled the trousers down, giving Charles a generous view of the King’s cock- already standing fully to attention, slick with pre-come at the top. Charles edged closer, rising up to his knees as he reached for the King’s member, but to his surprise Erik immediately stopped him by leaning forward and grasping Charles’ face with both hands as he held him still.

“No, Liebling- no hands this time. I just want you to use your gorgeous mouth. You’re going to use your beautiful red lips and your clever pink tongue to pleasure me until I come- is that understood?”

With his words, Erik drew the pad of his thumb slowly across Charles’ lower lip, making a shiver run through Charles’ body as he gazed into the King’s eyes which were unmistakably clouded with desire.

“Yes, my King…” Charles said softly, resolutely.

Erik smiled. “Good boy,” he replied, before he let go and sat back in the throne once more.

The following act was now woefully familiar to Charles, but still somehow different. Over the past weeks, Charles had taken the King’s cock in his mouth numerous times, however this was the first time Erik had insisted that Charles was not to use his hands. On each previous occasion, Erik had either fucked Charles’ mouth or, even if Charles had been giving a blowjob, he had always allowed Charles to fist him to completion rather than suck Erik until he came. This was the first time that Charles would have to rely on his mouth alone.

Erik was a very well-endowed man, and though Charles had taken the King’s cock in his mouth before it was not easy to cope with. It was a mercy that Erik was at least patient- that he was careful and considerate and he never pushed Charles for too much- but deep down Charles suspected that it couldn’t last forever. And so, after Charles wrapped his lips around Erik’s cock and began to slide his mouth up and down the shaft, he was not surprised when, after a few minutes, Erik began to groan: “More… more…”

Charles steadied himself, breathing through his nose as he tried to relax the muscles in his throat enough to let the King’s cock slide down the narrow channel, but though he managed it- coughing a little as the head of Erik’s member bumped against the back of his throat- Charles could not maintain it for long.

If Erik was disappointed when Charles abruptly pulled away he didn’t show it. He merely looked at Charles somewhat fondly, before he slid his hand into Charles’ hair to cradle his head.

“I think we may need to start your training soon, Charles…” Erik said softly, just the hint of a smirk playing about his lips. Charles barely had time to consider what Erik might mean before he was being pulled forward once more, mouth opening without question ready for Erik’s cock to slip inside.

This time, Erik maintained his hold on Charles’ head as Charles sucked him, using his grip to encourage Charles to slide his mouth up and down. Charles allowed Erik to take control, breathing through his nose slowly and steadily as he felt Erik’s member rock into his mouth, keeping his eyes focused on Erik’s face as he had been instructed to so many times before. Before long the familiar signs of Erik’s steadily building climax were evident, and Charles gripped the cushion beneath himself for support as he heard Erik groan and felt Erik’s come spill onto his tongue.

After Erik had recovered from his climax he pulled Charles into his lap, much to Charles’ surprise, and wrapped his arms around Charles’ waist as he buried his face in Charles’ neck, placing lustful, unexpected kisses to Charles’ skin that made Charles tremble involuntarily from the contact of lips to sensitive skin. Erik’s breath was warm and, though Charles wished to be permitted to get up rather than to have to stay in Erik’s lap, he couldn’t help but respond. Beyond the way Erik favoured holding him posessively at night, it was only gentle touch Charles had received in many weeks. It occurred to him then how much he might be missing the intimacy of a simple caress, even if he knew the only person he would be able to get it from was Erik.

“Your skin is so soft, Liebling…” Erik murmured, lips trailing slowly up Charles’ neck towards his jawline. He nipped at the sensitive spot just behind Charles’ ear and Charles couldn’t control the tiny hiss that escaped his lips, little more than a hurried exhalation of breath, or the way he almost instinctively tilted his face down towards Erik, seeking out the kiss that he knew would be expected of him.

Still, there was little that was comforting in this familiarity, in the King’s gentleness, because as Charles followed Erik out of the throne room later, he couldn’t help but remember Erik’s words earlier and wonder what he meant by them.

_“I think we may need to start your training soon, Charles…”_

 

It was not long before Charles found out what Erik had been planning. It was a Saturday and- as was custom in the region- that necessitated a day of rest and relaxation, even for the King, so Erik had no Kingly duties to perform that would keep him away from Charles.

Charles awoke lying on his stomach in the bed, the warmth and light of the sun coming in through the windows illuminating the pillow his head was resting upon. It wasn’t unusual by this point for Charles to find the space in the bed next to him empty as Erik often rose early, but what was unusual was for him to turn and find Erik sitting in a chair at the edge of the bed, watching Charles carefully.

“Good morning, Charles…” Erik said softly.

Instantly, Charles knew that there was going to be something different about this day- it was written in the look of determination and desire in Erik’s eyes. Indeed, Charles had become accustomed to waking up to find Erik looking at him that way, but it was as though there was an underlying feeling of tension in the air, something that made Charles wonder for a moment whether he had accidentally accessed his telepathy without thinking about it; however unlikely that may have been given the transition actually took hours of mental concentration to achieve. He hadn’t though- whatever Charles was reading he was getting from Erik’s body language alone- but the realisation only made him feel even more confused.

“I’d like you to go take a shower, Charles, and then rejoin me in the bedroom.”

Those instructions didn’t make anything any clearer. Normally, Erik wanted Charles to pleasure him almost immediately once he had fully woken up, so the fact that he was allowing Charles to shower first instantly put Charles on edge, as he tried not to let his mind run wild with the possibilities. Still, Erik had promised that he would not touch Charles intimately without Charles asking for it, and as he’d proven himself to be a man of his word Charles had nothing to fear… _Right?_

As Charles returned from the bathroom he worked to keep his composure, fighting the urge to wring his hands. Erik was waiting for him, still sat in that same chair at the foot of the bed, completely naked and with his hard cock resting against his thigh. When Charles entered, Erik cast a glance down Charles’ body, eyebrows raising pointedly at the towel wrapped around Charles’ waist, and Charles understood implicitly.

“That’s better,” Erik said as Charles removed the towel, and Charles wondered at what point he might stop feeling a twist in his gut upon being naked in front of Erik… It did not seem like it would be any time soon, because as Charles began to slowly wander over towards where Erik was sitting, he could feel his heart pounding within his chest, battering his ribcage like it was as trapped as Charles was.

“Lie down on the bed.”

That instruction didn’t clarify what Erik wanted any further. Charles reached the bed and climbed up onto it, edging forward so that he could lie down with his face resting against the pillow, but he had barely settled when there was a firm “No,” and Charles turned his head to look at Erik for explanation.

“No, not like that. Lie down on your back, with your head down this end of the bed.”

Immediately, Charles flushed, thinking about how such a position would leave him completely on display- naked and lying in subjugation ready for Erik to do whatever he desired to him. However, that was what Charles was there for, after all, and there was no use pretending otherwise.

Still, Charles kept his eyes lowered as he rose back to his knees and turned around on the bed, crawling over towards where Erik was sitting, before turning over and lying down as requested. The urge for Charles to cover himself with his hands was almost overwhelming, but at the merest lift of Charles’ hands the metal cuffs around his wrists tightened ever so slightly under the influence of Erik’s power, almost as though he knew what Charles was thinking.

“Closer,” Erik instructed, his voice a low murmur. “Move down so that your head is tilted back over the edge of the mattress.”

The questions in Charles’ mind were being replaced by tendrils of understanding he was not quite ready to acknowledge. He could not stifle the slight whimper he exhaled as he convinced his body to slowly obey- shifting down the bed until he lay down again, precisely as the King had commanded.

Erik stood up, and instantly it meant that, from the angle in which Charles was lying, all he could see was from Erik’s feet up to his waist- which seemed apt considering the lower part of Erik was what Charles belonged to most completely. Still, not being able to see Erik’s face was somehow disorientating- Erik perpetually insisted that Charles look him in the eyes at all times, and Charles had become used to reading the intent there. Now he was adrift on the sea of Erik’s whims.

There was a long pause, time in which Charles felt his entire body heat- like Erik’s eyes were trailing across his skin and leaving warm flesh in their wake- and Charles couldn’t help but wonder what Erik was thinking, and what Erik saw in someone who considered himself as pale and unremarkable. The way Charles was laid out seemed to suggest only one option and when Erik paused, cock just inches away from Charles’ mouth, and placed one hand on Charles’ face- thumb just brushing against Charles’ lips, tugging slightly like he was trying to coax them open, he had his confirmation. Still, Charles just laid there, breathing heavily and feeling completely helpless, until Erik ran his thumb over Charles’ lower lip more firmly and commanded: “Open your mouth.”

There was another whimper from Charles- an involuntary expression of his vulnerability as he slowly, so slowly, parted his lips and Erik stepped forward to push his cock into the wet heat of Charles’ mouth.

“More…” Erik groaned, thumb rubbing against Charles’ cheek like he was trying to encourage him. “Open up, Liebling. Come on- be good for your King.”

Charles shut his eyes- grateful that, for once, he wouldn’t have to look at Erik- and opened his mouth, attempting to relax his jaw as Erik slid his large cock further in- deeper and deeper, until it slid down the back of Charles’ throat, completely inserted into his mouth to the hilt. Erik held Charles like that for a moment, until Charles let out a helpless moan of protest and Erik withdrew, sliding almost all the way out until just the head of his cock remained in Charles’ mouth and Charles gasped around it.

“Good… That’s good, Charles. You’re so good for me. Do you think you can do that again, Liebling? Do you think you can relax your throat and let me in? Because we’re going to practice. We’re going to keep doing this until you get used to my length, until you welcome the feeling of my cock sliding down your throat, until you want it desperately. You’re going to be so good at this, aren’t you? You’re going to make me proud.”

Charles squeezed his eyes tightly shut, realising now what Erik had meant when he’d said ‘training’. It was this. It was Charles laid out like this, over and over again, feeling Erik’s cock fill his mouth until he no longer choked on the length. It was Charles learning to calm down and relax his muscles so that Erik could fuck deep into the channel of his throat. It was Charles becoming the perfect little sex pet- just as the King wished.

Charles kept his eyes shut, and told himself to think of the library and the fine foods and the people of Britannia and how Erik had saved them, and nothing else.

 

Over the next day and a half it became clear that the ‘training’ was not just a one-off event, though Charles had not for a moment thought it would be. On at least half a dozen occasions, Charles found himself on his knees or arse or his back- anywhere suitable for him to wait with his mouth open for Erik’s cock- before he once again experienced the complete subjugation of letting Erik use his mouth and throat. All throughout the experience Erik would murmur filthy-voiced encouragement to Charles, telling him how good he was doing, how gorgeous he looked with a mouth full of cock, how well he was performing for his King. Charles felt his face heat with each word uttered, but remained grateful that the blood was at least flowing to his cheeks and not elsewhere…

On more than one occasion when Erik was fucking Charles’ throat he would begin to slide his hands over Charles’ body, most often when Charles was lying on his back as he had the first time. With Charles laid out so perfectly it was to be expected that Erik might touch him, and though Erik was true to his word and he didn’t touch Charles’ cock, there were times when Charles couldn’t suppress an involuntary moan as Erik’s thumbs began to brush firmly over Charles’ nipples, making them harden to the touch. Fortunately it never went any further than that- Erik was usually too preoccupied with fucking Charles’ mouth to pursue anything else- but given Erik’s insistence that he wanted Charles to crave his touch Charles couldn’t help but wonder when Erik might begin to be rather more insistent in his affections.

Though Charles spent more time that he would have thought necessary- or indeed _possible_ \- with Erik’s cock in his mouth, it was not all that they did. Erik took Charles on another horse ride, one that commenced during the fading light of day, and Charles couldn’t help but feel some apprehension as they rode and he turned around to see the lights of the castle fading into darkness. It was now just himself and Erik alone in the countryside with no one else in sight, and though Erik had given Charles no reason to fear him, it still didn’t quell all of Charles’ feelings of unease. However, by the time Erik brought the horse to a stop in the same clearing he had brought Charles to on that first day, Charles began to feel better.

All above them were thousands of glittering stars lighting up the night’s sky, and Charles couldn’t help but stare up at them in wonder. Back when Charles had lived in Britannia he’d loved nothing more than spending long hours gazing through his father’s old telescope, taking note of the stars in the sky and memorising their names. Charles did his best not to think about what he had left behind, but he was not always successful, and this was very much one of those times. The longing for what had once been took hold of his voice before he could stop it.

“Orion…” Charles murmured to himself.

Behind him on the horse, Erik gave Charles’ side a gentle squeeze. “What was that?”

“Oh, just…” Charles pointed to the sky with a shrug. “That constellation there- that’s Orion.

“You know their names?” Erik asked.

Charles nodded. “Most of them, yes.”

“Can you teach me?”

“What? I mean, I’m sorry- my King?”

“Teach me the names of the stars, Charles. I wish to learn.”

Of all the things that Charles had expected Erik to ask him over the course of his new life in the castle, teaching him how to identify and name constellations was not one of them. But Charles couldn’t help but be grateful for the opportunity to do something for Erik that didn’t involve nudity, for once, and so he quietly cleared his throat before looking once more up at the sky and beginning to point out stars.

 

Besides horseriding, Charles and Erik engaged in some other activities that- to Charles’ relief- kept them away from the bedroom. On one Sunday morning, Erik took Charles on another walk around the castle grounds, speaking to him about the construction that had gone into building the castle and the surrounding area. As they wandered down one of the long hallways, it was clear that there was still more work taking place, and Erik explained that it was in preparation for a lavish banquet in order to celebrate the recent victory over Shaw- a banquet that Erik wanted Charles to attend with him…

“You wish for me to accompany you?” Charles asked as he walked beside Erik, watching as Erik nodded politely at a subject who bid him greeting before turning his attention back to Charles.

“Yes, Charles- of course I do. You’re a member of nobility and my companion, it would only be right that you should attend the event by my side.” Erik’s grin grew wicked. “Besides, I can only imagine how beautiful you will look at the banquet, and how much fun I’ll have undressing you afterwards…”

It was remarkable how, even after everything they’d done so far, even after _training_ , Charles was still able to blush.

“I’ve arranged for Marie and her team to dress you for the occasion,” Erik continued. “I expect you to report to her later tonight. In the meantime, why don’t we go back to the bedroom for another lesson…”

Charles’ mind whirred with the possibilities of what the banquet might involve- what people would be in attendance, whether Charles would be expected to speak to them, how Erik would act towards Charles when there were other high-ranking people present. But there was no time to think about it now- Erik had taken hold of Charles’ hand and was tugging him gently in the direction of their bedroom, and like always Charles could do nothing else but obey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been waiting for a turn around for poor Charles... could this be it?

"Does the fabric please you?"  
  
It seemed to Charles that this particular question was rhetorical on more than one count. Firstly, it was the finest fabric Charles had ever encountered, something he'd thought nearly impossible after his first fitting. The silk was so soft that he had the absurd urge to wrap himself in it and roll around rather than wear it. He did not think there was a person on earth who could take displeasure in it. Secondly, did it really matter if it pleased him? It only mattered if it pleased the King.  
  
"It is exquisite, Marie." After fingering the silk tunic a few moments longer, he handed it back to her. "As well, the embroidering outshines anything you've dressed me in thus far."  
  
A hint of colour touched her cheeks. "It is my work, your gra-- sorry, Charles."  
  
"Yours! My word. You are exceedingly talented. I can see why the King would have snatched you up into his employ." Her blush reddened. Flushing certainly seemed to be something they had in common, though the praise that made Charles blush these days was of an entirely filthier sort. He shook those thoughts from his head. "It will be my honour to wear your work this evening."  
  
"Thank you. You are very kind." Marie's smiles were soft and hesitant but entirely endearing.  
  
Now that Marie had his measurements, everything was pre-fitted and the entire process took a great deal less time than the first session. Even so, she flitted around him ensuring that each stitch and each seam were in order, and that it lay against his body perfectly. This tunic was longer, more formal, hitting him across the knee. When he moved, it hinted at his body beneath, clinging for a moment before billowing out. It made Charles seem alluring... almost exotic and he could not quite put his finger on why until he realized how Arabian the style was. Smudge a little kohl around his eyes and the fabric would not need to be sheer to hint at his role in the King's life.  
  
When Marie finished, Charles plied her with more praise. It certainly was not what he wanted to wear, but she had done an extraordinary job, and he had no doubt Erik would be pleased with the results. So much so Charles had to wonder if they would make it to the banquet on time, if at all...  
  
No longer needing to be in front of the mirrors, Charles began to step down from the raised platform, but caught the heel of his boot on the edge. Faltering, he instinctively reached for the nearest thing available to balance himself, and that thing happened to be Marie. His hand grasped at her shoulder, his finger just barely brushing against the bare skin of her neck, but even that brief contact was enough to turn his world upside down.  
  
He heard someone scream- the horrid sound of a person in agony- only to realise that it had come from own his throat. The noise was not the only thing torn from him- every part of himself was being ripped from his body, and he was certain he would die. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced, or would hope to experience again. Did man have a soul? A life force? Charles suddenly believed for the first time that he did, and that it was being stolen from him.  
  
"Charles! Your Grace! Oh god! I'm so sorry, so so sorry. You-- you never should never have touched me. Did I not explain? Oh god, the King. I'm...."  
  
Charles was lying on the floor with no recollection of how he had gotten there. The pain was receding, but every nerve ending remained on fire. He couldn't move, didn't want to move, not yet, and all he could perceive was Marie above him, filling his vision, her eyes close to overflowing with tears.  
  
"Your Grace, can you hear me? Are you alright? I'm so sorry..." Marie’s litany of apologies continued but did little to explain what on earth had just happened.  
  
"Marie... what... what was that?"  
  
"I should have told you. You must never touch my skin! Why didn't I tell you? My mutation-- " She cut off with a gasp, her gloved hands flying to her head and grasping it in obvious pain. She moaned, her eyes releasing the tears that had been collecting there. "You're a telepath. The voices. I can't-- there's too many voices. Their feelings. Your feelings. Oh Charles..."  
  
His own pain became increasingly secondary as he watched Marie continue to clutch at her head and babble words that made little sense to him, but her words were of little consequence, they could sort them out later. Charles sat up and pulled Marie to him, careful to heed the warning she had just given him and avoided her bare flesh as he held her. He murmured his own quiet nonsense as she rode out whatever it was that was happening to her. Eventually, she came back to herself enough to scrabble away from him. She moved quickly to her knees and sank her forehead to the carpet, prostrating herself before him.  
  
The position seemed to help her collect herself, her words became less panicked, more formal. "Your Grace, I offer you my sincerest apologies and accept any reprimand which you feel would be appropriate."  
  
Charles huffed. There would be none of that. "Marie, please, sit up. I've already told you, call me Charles. All I wish from you is to explain what just happened." He could see the hesitation in her still prone form. "I'm quite serious. I'll be much more cross with you if you continue to bow to me in that ridiculous manner."  
  
She tilted her head up and took in his broad smile, not immediately relaxing, but at least sitting up as requested.  
  
"My mutation, I should have told you. I-- I don't know why I didn't. I just-- " She released a slow breath. "If I touch someone, skin to skin, I absorb their... their strength. I can age a person years in only minutes. If this person is a mutant, I absorb their powers as well, for a short time."  
  
Charles blinked, processing this, and he was quickly awed by it. "That's-- that's extraordinary. How powerful you must be."  
  
This was clearly not the response Marie was expecting and her expression turned quizzical.

"Powerful, perhaps, but it's a useless power for someone with no inclination to hurt others. What good does stealing someone's strength, their mutation, do me? I haven't been able to touch another living soul since my powers manifested." She held up her hands, still covered by beautiful white gloves.  
  
Charles took those gloved hands in his, startling her, but he gripped them firmly. "Have you ever sought help?"  
  
"Help? For what?"  
  
"In Britannia, mutant subjects sometimes sought my help. Those whose mutations were harmful to themselves or others. I had a certain knack for teaching them to control their powers."  
  
Marie shook her head so vigorously her hair fell into her face. "No! There's no controlling this. It's best that I cover myself and leave it at that."  
  
Charles was exceedingly careful as he pushed her hair away from her face. "Have you ever tried?"  
  
"No... but-- "  
  
"There you have it then. In my experience, the powers manifested by mutation can be honed, strengthened, or controlled, and I do not see why yours should be any different. Should you wish it... I have good deal of spare time and would be happy to help you if I can. Without my telepathy it might be... challenging to say the least, and I can make no promises, but I would like to try."  
  
Marie stared at him for a time, contemplation written all over her face. He felt he could see the war transpiring behind her eyes- between the hope for something she never thought she could have and the despair she would feel if she was never able to achieve it.  
  
"I would like to try as well."  
  
The most genuine smile Charles had felt since he arrived spread across his face and a corresponding warmth spread through his chest. Books were all well and good, but this was something that could fulfill his time in a way no leisure activity could, make him feel useful and as though his life could still mean something.  
  
"Then I shall ask the King. I do not imagine he would refuse, however..." Charles would not dare engage in such an endeavour, with one of the King's servants, without his explicit permission.  
  
They were both standing again, re-arranging their slightly askew clothes and hair, when Marie interjected: "He's a good man, Charles."  
  
"Yes, he treats his subjects very well, and is very passionate about mutations, so I'm sure he'd grant his permission for-- "  
  
"You misunderstand me," Marie interjected again, though her voice was soft. When she continued, she could not quite look him in the eye. "I... I felt how... how you feel about him and saw some of how he's treated you." She blushed furiously red this time and Charles could only imagine, with abject mortification, what memory she might have picked up in the brief period of telepathic chaos that she had experienced. "And... I understand why you feel as you do, but... he's been alone, always in fact, and... I'm sorry this is completely inappropriate and not at all my place but..." She finally turned her eyes back up to meet his. "He's a good man."  
  
Charles was quiet, having no idea what to make of this. Charles' definition of 'good' did not generally include placing someone into sexual slavery, no matter how acceptable society deemed it or how long such practices had been in place for royalty and the upper echelons of nobility. However, at the same time, he had been the object of and been witness to many actions that proved Erik was not a terrible person, and Marie spoke the words with grave conviction. He was not sure he would ever know what to make of Erik.

The movement of the heavy oak door startled them both. Only one individual in the entire castle complex would dare open it without knocking- the King. Charles and Marie both moved to positions of deference as Erik entered. Marie bowed low and Charles crossed his arms behind his back, bent at the waist, but tilted his head up to keep his eyes on his King. The position was becoming as natural and automatic as breathing and he didn’t know what to make of that either.

"Marie." Erik nodded at her and she curtsied low before rising. "Charles." Erik's behaviour toward him in such moments varied according to their company. He was less formal with Marie than others, so he approached Charles, hooked a finger under his chin and guided Charles up until their mouths pressed together, briefly.  
  
"Let me have a look at you."  
  
Erik stepped back several long paces to take in Marie's fine handiwork. Charles, deciding he might as well, spun around slowly to show off the garment's full effect.  
  
"Liebling..." Erik's face was surprisingly inscrutable. Charles had expected blatant lust, but the familiar expression was nowhere to be seen. The King's eyes flicked to Marie. "You have outdone yourself... He is exquisite. No one at the banquet will be his equal."  
  
She curtsied low once more. "You are too generous, sire."  
  
"I am not." Erik looked back at Charles and closed the small space between them. He placed the palm of one hand against Charles' cheek and stroked his thumb gently across Charles' cheekbone. "Liebling... you are beautiful." Charles waited, expecting the anticipated filthy words and filthy promises, but still they did not come. "Beautiful," Erik repeated and his inscrutable expression suddenly became clear- he looked stunned.  
  
Warmth rose to Charles' cheeks and, for perhaps the first time since his arrival, it was not borne of embarrassment. The King's gaze was intense, but not carnal, and Charles found he could not bear it. His eyes, despite Erik's enduring command, flicked down to the floor. "Thank you... my King."  
  
It felt like a long time before Erik stepped back, releasing his gentle hold on Charles' face and Charles allowed his eyes to flick back up to Erik's. The King stared at him for awhile longer, his expression slowly turning back from quietly stunned to inscrutable. Eventually, he raised and offered his arm.  
  
"Charles?"  
  
Charles stepped forward and placed his hand in the crook of Erik's elbow. They bid their goodbyes to Marie and exited into the corridor. As they walked silently toward the banquet hall Charles tried, with a kind of desperation, not to contemplate what might await him there. In some ways, he knew this evening would be even more difficult than seeing to any of Erik's sexual needs had been, but he also knew, if he over thought it now, he might not be able to cross the threshold. He had already suffered several crushing panic attacks in the long hours he spent without Erik. The morning after Erik had announced the coming banquet, Charles had choked so completely on his own thoughts he had not been able to leave the bedroom until after lunch. He had wondered- would nobility of his acquaintance be in attendance? Would they see what he had become and glory in his fall? Would he be sat on a cushion, humiliated even further, at Erik's feet? Would he eat like a dog from the floor? It would not do to work himself into such a state now, though he could not help the slight tightness anxiety produced in his chest. Charles thought the tension was all his own, until the King finally spoke.  
  
"I should... I feel I should warn you."  
  
Charles tried not to stiffen. Warn him? Warn him of what precisely? Charles had already engaged in many activities he did not want to engage in and Erik had not seen fit to forewarn him about any of them. So, what could possibly necessitate a warning now? Charles, however, said nothing and instead waited for Erik to proceed.  
  
"My sister. In point of fact, my step-sister, will be in attendance."  
  
His sister. Charles had to rack his brain but was able to come up with a name-- Emma. He believed it was Emma. Britannia had spent a great deal more time trading and establishing alliances with smaller nations on the mainland than they had with Genosha and its satellites. This was why he had never met Erik, nor Emma, before now. They had rarely crossed diplomatic paths, at least until Shaw had threatened Britannia's shores. Why he should be warned, Charles had no idea. While he had heard a great deal about King Erik of Genosha, he had heard very little about Emma.  
  
Not knowing quite what to say Charles ventured: "I will be pleased to make her acquaintance."  
  
Erik snorted and stopped their progress toward the banquet hall. "Emma is... Well, I suppose I should not predispose you to any one opinion, though I have probably already done so. At the very least, I thought you should know she will be there and... that she's a telepath."  
  
A telepath.  
  
Something twisted in Charles and he shoved it away, the same way he was shoving away every other thought that was trying to make itself known about this evening.  
  
All he said was: "Thank you."  
  
They continued on and soon neared the Great Hall. Erik paused again before they could reach the grand doors that would part to announce their entrance. "I almost forgot."  
  
Erik took both of Charles' forearms in his hands and looked critically at the metal bands wrapped around his forearms. The sleeves of the tunic were just short enough to display them. The cuffs slowly warmed, a sure indication that Erik's power was at work, but did not tighten. Instead, the geometric pattern that had adorned them for weeks transformed, metal sliding and remoulding as though it were as fluid as liquid, until the bands complimented Marie's hand embroidery. Charles could not help but be impressed, both by the precise control with which Erik wielded his power and the artistry of his work- it was not an exact copy of Marie's pattern, but they worked together seamlessly. Had Erik not been born to royal life he could have easily ingratiated himself into it, creating metalwork that only royalty could have afforded.  
  
"My King... they are beautiful."  
  
"As are you."  
  
Charles flushed, predictably, and immediately tried to steer the conversation away from himself. "I would like... someday... to see more of what your powers afford you. They are a thing of legend, but legend and truth rarely meet. I feel that you, well, you may be the exception." Charles was not sure where those words had come from, but they were no less true for it. Mutation fascinated him in all of it's forms.  
  
Erik took both of Charles' hands in his and raised them to his mouth, pressing a kiss into each one in turn. "Are you asking me to show off, Charles? In that case, I accept." Erik's grin was playful. It was an expression Charles only ever saw when they were alone- sometimes when they were in bed but increasingly when they were not. He briefly wondered who else, if anyone, ever saw this side of the King. The expression fell away and was replaced by the stern countenance Erik always presented to the public. He let go of Charles' hands.  
  
"I shall enter first, and you shall follow a few paces behind."  
  
The King stepped up to the doors, ensured his garments were just so, and Charles fell in step behind him and did the same. The King's hands were steady, while Charles' shook in time with the churning of his stomach. Two guards stood fast at the doorway, bowing to the King before they opened the heavy wood doors. Immediately, Charles' ears were bombarded by the sounds of a party already in full swing- upbeat music being expertly played by minstrels, excited chatter made overloud by alcohol, and glasses clinking against each other. The herald stationed at the door silenced the room with a very specific sequence of notes played loud and sure on her trumpet. There was no mistaking it- the King had arrived.  
  
"It is my deepest honour and privilege to announce His Majesty, Ruler of the Vast Lands of Genosha and Commander of the Mutant Armies, King Erik of the House of Lehnsherr."  
  
Erik moved into the silence. The cavernous room was teeming with at least a few hundred people and Charles watched as they all fell into a low bow like a wave of dominoes falling. It made the already strong man in front of Charles seem larger than life. More legend than man. It made Charles' waist twitch with the desire to bow to him as well.  
  
"He is accompanied by His Grace, First Son of Britannia, Charles of the House of Xavier."  Charles too moved into the silence, standing to the side and one pace behind his King. By allowing him to enter in this way, he placed Charles above all others in the room. It was as confusing as it was humbling.  
  
The doors were on the second floor, and when Erik began to descend the staircase, it signalled to all present that they may rise.

Charles spent the next hour at the King's side as noble after noble paid their respects. A page accompanied them, providing Erik with the names of the Lords and Ladies he was not already familiar with, but they were few and far between. They were forced to pay their respects to Charles as well, and he did his best not to meet their eyes, having no desire to see what he would find there.  
  
That changed near the end of the receiving line.  
  
Cain.  
  
Charles’ throat closed up as his stomach plummeted. Oh how painfully stupid he was. Of course Britannia had sent a representative. It would have been the height of insult not to. Erik was their saviour and this banquet honoured his victory over Shaw and new patronage over Britannia. In Charles' mind, his own presence was Britannia's presence, but that was no longer completely true. He retained his title, his rank, but as he now belonged to Erik, it was more symbolic than anything else, and he could no longer represent Britannia in any official capacity. He had no doubt that Cain had happily volunteered himself and he had no doubt Kurt had happily acquiesced. Cain had spent his life thrashing against his place in Charles' shadow and the glint in his eye was all Charles needed to know that he now gloried in being out of it.  
  
"Lord Marko," Erik acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head.  
  
Cain bowed. "Britannia wishes to once again express its deepest, most sincere gratitude for all you and Genosha have done for us. We pledge our undying fealty to you, Your Majesty. Everything that is ours is yours."  
  
Pretty words well said, but Charles knew Cain gave his undying fealty to no one but himself.  
  
"Your Grace."  
  
"Lord Marko." Charles' voice was tight. He cursed himself for displaying much more emotion than he would have liked.  
  
A few more individuals, a few more bows, and Erik was finally finished receiving his guests. He turned his attention back to Charles for the first time since they had arrived. "You may enjoy the banquet as you like. Should I sit to eat or request your presence you will come, otherwise the evening is yours."  
  
"Thank you, my King."    
  
Erik began to walk away and Charles found himself twitching to follow. With the King, he was sheltered. The probability of facing ridicule decreased exponentially in his presence, but Charles would feel every bit the dog following at his heels, as he did the pet sitting on his cushion. Circulating alone he did not know what to expect and the unknown set his stomach churning with renewed force. On his own, though, he would be his own man, not hiding, not a coward. He let Erik go.

A servant passed by him holding a tray with goblets- whatever was in them, it was sure to be alcoholic. Charles picked up a glass- red wine. It would do. Though the King partook of wine, mead, or beer with meals, and sometimes as a nightcap, Charles had not allowed himself that luxury so far. Too afraid of the path it might set him upon- how easy it would be to let intoxication blur the harsh edges of his new life, smooth his anxieties and ease his submission. Tonight, he felt an exception was warranted.  
  
He took an experimental sip and moved off to one side, doing something he never would have done in his former life- playing the role of the wallflower. Charles loved- had loved- banquets for numerous reasons. He had always taken great pleasure in people, in socialising with them, and what better place for such an activity than a banquet? Of course, there was also the excellent food and wine, and exceptional music and entertainment. Though Raven claimed he looked like an awkward ostrich, Charles enjoyed the gaiety of a lively dance, no matter how much a fool he made of himself. And, finally, there was his telepathy.  
  
Charles' heart clenched. He sipped his wine, no doubt of the finest vintage, but it may as well have been swill for all the attention his taste buds paid it.  
  
It was a relief not to know what anyone was thinking or feeling about him in his new role. God only knew what they had thought as they had bowed to the King's whore, still playing at being something more than he was. However, for a telepath as powerful and with as fine control as he had, banquets had provided him with a smorgasbord of minds for him to touch. A room alive with swirling thoughts and feelings, crashing over him in invigorating waves. Now, they were all life-sized dolls of the finest manufacture, glittering in their jewels, but nearly as dead to him as a corpse.  
  
Charles downed the remainder of the glass and snagged another.  
  
He forced himself away from the wall, just another means by which to hide, and plunged into the crowd.  
  
Conversation ended up being the most horrid form of small talk he had ever experienced. Some variation of "How are you enjoying Genosha?" plagued him at every turn. To which Charles had to respond with vague, non-committal answers about the people and the scenery because he couldn't very well say "I wouldn't know, as I've spent most of my time on my knees with the King's cock down my throat. I'm in training to take it all you see, as he's got quite the monster in his trousers. Now tell me, how are the kids?"  
  
A second glass of wine made it easier to bear, tilting his world just enough to make it seem comically ludicrous. His smile got wider, the conversations funnier, and he was very nearly having a good time.  
  
"Charlie."  
  
But really, the joke was still on him.  
  
"Cain." Charles grit his teeth and turned to face his step-brother. "I rather thought I told you never to call me that."  
  
"I don't think you're in much of a position to tell me what to do anymore, are you Charlie?"  
  
He was not. His fists clenched in time with his jaw.  
  
"Charles Xavier, Britannia's best and brightest. Its darling First Son, loved by all. If only your beloved people could see you now."  
  
Charles hissed: "I did this for my people. I didn't see you stepping up."  
  
Where Charles was taut as a bow, Cain was loose, leaning casually against a thick pillar, a vicious smile playing across his lips. He was relishing every moment of this.  
  
"Well, I don't really care for cock, Charlie- even if it is attached to a King as powerful and wealthy as Erik, but then you always did like to take men to bed. Maybe you've just always been a slut for cock. How is the King's? Is it big enough for you? Thick enough?"  
  
"Cain, you are as repulsive and witless as-- "  
  
But Cain went on, speaking over him as though Charles hadn't said a word. "I wonder, will you even be able to sit down to dinner tonight? Or, has the King fucked your pretty little arse so hard you'll have to--"  
  
Cain cut off with a harsh gasp. The gaudy, gem-studded chain around his neck had tightened with such alacrity it bit into his neck, cutting off whatever insult the bloody bastard had been planning to finish with, along with his ability to breathe. Erik stepped out from behind the pillar, one hand raised, fingers spread, his features as calm as they ever were. He rounded on Cain, who was now scrabbling at the chain, trying to wedge his fingers between the metal and the flesh of his neck. When Erik arrived in Cain’s line of sight, Cain’s panic was a thing of beauty. Charles tried not to take pleasure in the way his face was turning slowly red and then purple.  
  
Erik released his hold on the chain.  
  
Cain spluttered, coughing and gulping at the air around him in a desperate attempt to fill his lungs. When he was able, apologies spilled out of his mouth in a deluge, words tumbling over one another in a manner that hardly made sense.  
  
"Silence."  
  
The command in Erik's tone was such that Charles felt compelled to obey even though he was not the one who was being silenced. Cain clearly felt it too, as he immediately stopped.  
  
"Do not apologise when the words are clearly meaningless. You have demonstrated an appalling lack of respect for your better."  
  
Cain scoffed, clearly not believing what he was hearing. "My _better_?"  
  
Witless. The chain tightened again, once more cutting off Cain's access to the air around him.  
  
"Would you like to try again?"  
  
There was a barely perceptible nod. The chain loosened and Cain hunched over, his breaths sounding ragged and painful.  
  
"Who is Charles Xavier to you?" The King's voice was like ice, chillingly even. It curled into Charles' veins and made him shudder. He had never seen Erik this way, and he did not know if he wanted to run or draw himself closer.  
  
"He... " Cain did not want to say it. His displeasure was written clearly across his face. "He is the First Son."  
  
" _And_?"  
  
Erik manipulated the chain, it did not constrict this time, but slid across the angry, red mark around Cain's neck, making him grit his teeth in obvious pain. "I-- I do not understand, Your Majesty."  
  
"Then I will make you."  
  
The chain yanked downward with such force that Cain's knees to hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. He cried out, drawing the attention of those around them who had not already realised what was happening.  
  
"Face Britannia's First Son."  
  
Cain did, whimpering as he moved to kneel facing Charles.  
  
"Your pitiful apologies are not owed to me."  
  
Cain bowed his head, the words coming out shaky and uneven. "I-- I am s-sorry, Your Grace. I d-do not deserve it, b-but I beg your-- your forgiveness and pl-pledge my undying allegiance to the First."  
  
Charles hardly knew what to say. Erik's methods were cruel, and nearing very close to what Charles would consider distasteful. However, Charles felt a surge of something dark, something that delighted in Cain's pain, his debasement. For how many years had that part of him wanted to do this, exactly this? He looked to Erik, who gave him the barest nod. The rest was up to him.  
  
The darkness warred within him, craving more, but it was not who he was. Charles sighed. "Though you scarcely deserve it, I accept your apology and your pledge. You may stand."  
  
It took Cain what seemed like an eternity to do so, releasing more pitiful whimpers as his knees protested the movements. "Thank you, Your Grace."  
  
Erik stepped closer to them both and the words that escaped his lips next were for Cain and Charles alone. "Consider yourself lucky that Charles is a merciful man. I would have wrapped this chain around your tongue and ripped it out for your insolence, for your insults against Charles and by extension, myself. You will leave now and return immediately to Britannia. You are no longer welcome to impose yourself on my hospitality. On the long trip home, think on how your petty, childish feelings of inadequacy nearly cost Britannia my protection."  
  
Two guards, whom Charles had not seen signalled, each took one of Cain's arms and half carried him away.  
  
Erik spread his arms and addressed the onlookers in a booming voice that Charles was sure carried throughout the hall. "Please! Do not let this ruin your enjoyment of the festivities. Another round of mead!"  
  
There was a chorus of appreciative agreement and Erik signalled the servants to refill glasses. With the show now over, everyone turned back to their previous conversations.  
  
The King looked back to Charles. For a moment it seemed almost like there was no one else in the room, just Charles and Erik, as lost in each other’s eyes as they had both been in the stars when they had gazed at them some nights before. There were so many feelings Charles didn’t know how to communicate, chief of which was gratitude, because- though he had never been a violent person, nor wished anyone else to be- Charles couldn’t help but be pleased with the way in which Erik had conducted himself. The only problem was, Charles didn’t quite understand why he had done so.

“Why did you defend my honour?” Charles asked, before he immediately realised his impertinence and added: “I’m sorry, my King, I do not wish to appear rude or ungrateful, I merely wonder why you would be so concerned with the insults someone might lay upon me.”

Erik frowned. “As I told you before, Charles- I take care of what’s mine. You’re an honoured guest at this party and you deserve to be treated as such. I won’t have anyone bringing your name into disrepute or insulting you, regardless of whether they are related to you or not. I understand that Cain is your stepbrother and therefore there is likely some history between you of which I am not yet privy, and I am sure from what I witnessed that not all of it is good, but that does not give him license to speak to you like that anymore- particularly not in my presence.”

Charles stared up at Erik for a long moment, mind whirring not only from the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed but also with questions, and to his surprise Erik began to smile. It wasn’t one of the filthy smiles he gave Charles in the bedroom, nor one of the smug smiles that resulted rom when he won a game of chess. No, it was a look of fondness, of affection, and Charles felt like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it.

“You’re cute when you’re confused…” Erik said quietly, seeming to confirm Charles’ questions. “But please, Charles- ask me anything you wish. On my honour, I promise you I will never lie to you.”

Alcohol made Charles bolder than he’d like, and he found himself daring to speak, even if his voice was hushed and for the King’s ears only.

“You demand that others show me respect when my position does not call for it. All evening you have made sure that I am to be treated like nobility. You’ve injured my stepbrother to defend me. On this one night alone you have shown me so much consideration, so much decency, and yet there are other times when you show me none. I am not questioning the nature of our involvement or the things you have me do- I know what I volunteered myself for- but how can you tell me I am near enough to your equal when you have me sit at your feet like a dog during the public forum each week? Do you not see what a contradiction that is? Do you not understand how demeaning that is for me?”

As Charles spoke he could see that his words had an almost physical impact on Erik, and when the word ‘dog’ tripped off his tongue he knew he’d gone too far. Instantly, Erik’s expression grew hard and set, his mouth clamped shut, and by the time Charles had finished speaking he was overcome with a need to hastily make amends for what his unfiltered brain had allowed him to disclose.

“My King, I am so sorry. I meant not a word of that, I… I… Oh, please forgive me.” Already this evening, one Britannic individual had insulted the King and now Charles could count himself as another. He cursed the honesty wine had brought. Honesty in his opinions on McCoy’s theories over dinner was an altogether different kind of honesty than speaking his true feelings regarding the King’s treatment of him. He had no right to disparage it. He could only hope he had not jeopardised his homeland further.

Charles bent over in an extravagant bow which did nothing to aide the fuzzy feeling in his brain, and clumsily groped for the King’s hand which he immediately pressed his mouth to. “My King, I sincerely apologise for any offence I may have caused you. I am but your loyal servant, and want nothing but to please you.” He would grovel, for Britannia.

Charles remained there with his mouth pressed to Erik’s knuckles for a long time, eyes closed tight in the imitation of a prayer as he waited for the King’s response. It would be well within Erik’s rights to instantly punish Charles, or perhaps to drag him off to the nearest private room for a more personal form of discipline, but to Charles’ surprise nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Erik’s fingers slipped slowly into Charles’ hair and tugged ever so slightly, just enough to get Charles to tilt his face upwards.

“You truly feel this way?” Erik asked. Charles remained resolutely mute in response so Erik added: “Tell me, Charles- your King commands it.”

Trying valiantly to swallow the large lump in his throat, Charles replied.

“Yes… Yes, that’s how I feel.”

There was another long pause, time stretching as Erik stared at Charles thoughtfully, and then he loosened his hold on Charles’ hair and told him to stand.

“It is a long held custom in Genosha, and elsewhere,” Erik said as Charles stood upright once more. “I had not intended to demean you, and I never considered that you might be offended by the seating arrangements.”

“Yes, I know- I know that. I’m sorry, Sire. I- I know what the customs are, here and elsewhere, and truly you have already treated me far more fairly than I could have reasonably expected. Please, forget I said anything. Please.”

Erik continued to watch Charles carefully for a long moment, before he replied simply: “As you wish, Charles…”

 

To Charles’ relief, the subsequent portion of the evening passed rather more pleasantly. The most important part of the event was of course the banquet itself- something Charles had been looking forward to in spite of his apprehensions about the evening, as he knew only too well the types of fine foods that were likely to be on offer. The banquet was being held in a large room just to the side of the grand hall, and as Charles walked in he saw one long table along the back wall of the room, along with many smaller round tables dotted in front of it. Charles knew without question where the King would be seated, he just had no idea what seat would be available for himself, assuming he would have one at all... However, to Charles’ immense relief ‘custom’ had evidently not come into play here, as Charles was seated on a modest looking but still rather grand chair at Erik’s side, in the centre of the largest table.

As Charles took his seat he soon found the tension easing out of him- the food was delicious, the conversation pleasant, and the wine kept flowing... There was a small part of Charles which wondered whether Erik would even want him to be drinking as, for all he had offered Charles drinks over the past few weeks, there was every possibility that Erik wouldn’t want for Charles to be drunk in the company of esteemed guests. However, it soon became apparent that Erik had no problem with it, as he was only too happy for the servants to continually top up Charles’ glass.

After the food had been consumed most of the guests returned to the main hall for dancing, only a few lingering to continue to enjoy conversation away from the noise of the minstrels. Erik remained where he was, and even though Charles’ feet itched to express themselves on the dancefloor, he wouldn’t have dreamed of asking Erik to accompany him, or attempting to remove himself from Erik’s company without permission. He doubted whether Erik would want him to go it alone, and so Charles remained where he was, sipping merrily on his wine as Erik’s hand slowly began to make progression along Charles’ inner thigh…

It was probably to be expected sooner or later- Erik’s sexual appetite could never be quelled for long, and Charles had predicted that at some point in the evening the King’s affections would turn amorous. However, it soon became clear that Erik had no interest in making any real advances towards Charles, at least not yet, so Charles was relatively content to just sit there, drinking his wine, feeling Erik’s hand lightly grope his thigh, and watching the people in the next room sway to the music.

Charles also took a few moments to observe the individuals still conversing, noting the delightful array of visible mutations on offer, the likes of which had never ceased to enthrall him during his time in the Kingdom. Charles had just been watching the movements of a particularly striking red skinned mutant when two things happened all at once- the mutant abruptly disappeared, and Charles felt Erik stiffen uncomfortably next to him.

Without hesitation, Charles turned to see what had commanded Erik’s attention, finding that Erik was no longer looking in his direction but was staring across the room, jaw clenched tight and eyes steely as a striking blonde woman began to approach.

Charles knew enough about the Ice Queen to recognise her when he saw her. Emma Frost moved into the room as if she owned it, her eyes fixed determinedly on Erik as she strolled towards him, a haughty expression on her face that Charles had only seen captured in portraits before now. The dress she was wearing was easily the most expensive Charles had ever seen, cut with fine silks from the Prenova Province and adorned with a myriad of diamonds, all of which captured the light and gave the illusion that she was glowing. Charles had heard that the lands Emma ruled over were called ‘The Diamond Isles’ due to the crystal clear waters that surrounded them, but Charles wondered now whether they were actually named for the Queen’s love of the rare jewel.

“Is that…?” Charles started, but he didn’t finish the sentence and didn’t really need to- the way Erik’s body language had changed gave him his answer.

As Emma began to move past the throngs of people in the centre of the room Charles realised for the first time that she was not alone. At her side was a distinguished looking gentleman in a fine purple tunic, a man whose tanned skinned suggested he was not from Genosha or the surrounding areas. He followed a few steps behind Emma but they moved as one, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder what nature of relationship they shared. Before long the two of them arrived at the table Charles and Erik were seated at, and whilst the man in the purple tunic bent over in a formal bow Emma merely offered the hint of a curtsey, the corners of her mouth remaining drawn up as she did so.

“Your Majesty…” Emma said, standing upright once more.

“Your Highness,” Erik replied, his jaw still clenched. The response evidently seemed to elicit some sort of amusement in Emma, as she immediately began to smirk before Erik continued: “How lovely it is you’ve chosen to grace us with your presence- I was beginning to think we wouldn’t see you until the evening was over.”

“Dear brother, you know I never miss an opportunity to make an entrance. Besides, I couldn’t possibly have joined you for dinner, you know I can’t stomach all this rich Genoshan food. I have to watch my figure, after all- not all of us can go around conquering nations and receiving gifted whores, and my advisors do like to tell me that I need to marry if I wish to secure the future of my country…”

Charles’ face fell at Emma’s words, but before he- or indeed Erik- could respond Emma’s head tilted to the side and her expression grew contrite rather than mocking.

“Oh, sugar- I didn’t really mean it like that. I’m only making fun of our lofty King, and I didn’t intend to cause you any offence,” Emma said, gazing softly at Charles. “I have a lot of respect for what you did, so please don’t let anyone make you feel like less than you are.”

“He won’t,” Erik interrupted, his voice a low growl. “And I will cut down anyone who does me the insult of trying.”

Emma’s eyes snapped back to Erik once more. “No, I did not for a moment think that you would, and I’ve already heard that you made that known earlier this evening… I must say I was a little surprised to learn that you needed to step in. Telepaths aren’t usually in need of rescuing.”

Charles should have seen it coming. Emma herself was a telepath and it stood to reason she would be interested in the scope of Charles’ power, as Charles himself was when he had met psychics in the past. Normally, Charles would have been only too happy to compare notes, however, due to the fact that Charles had cut himself off from his telepathy, the subject only made him clam up.

Emma stared at Charles for a long moment, her eyes losing their focus in the tell tale manner that indicated she was sifting deeply through someone’s mind. Charles had the uneasy feeling it was his. After a time, her eyes refocused and narrowed slightly, then she said simply: “Oh…”

How deeply she had gone, Charles couldn’t know, so he couldn’t possibly begin to discern what that ‘oh’ meant, other than the fact that Emma had likely deduced that Charles was blocking his telepathy. In response, Charles expected questions, though he didn’t welcome them, but to his immense surprise Emma said nothing. At least, not to him.

“Your Majesty, might I have a word?” Emma asked, turning back to Erik once more.

“You wish to speak with me in private?” Erik frowned.

“Yes, if you consent. It seems there are some… things we need to discuss. Please join me on the balcony?”

Erik paused for a moment, clearly considering, before he turned towards Charles and gave his thigh a quick squeeze.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” Erik said quietly, leaning over to press a simple kiss to Charles’ cheek before he began to stand up.

As Charles watched Erik begin to walk down to the end of the table, he turned his attention once more to the scene in front of himself, finding that Emma’s companion had not moved either.

“Oh, would you like to join me?” Charles asked, trying to compose himself and smile cordially at the man, gesturing to the seat beside himself. Emma had moved a few paces away at that point, but she turned back just long enough to reply.

“Oh no, Janos doesn’t talk,” she said. It wasn’t much of an explanation, and it left Charles at somewhat of a loss as to what to do next, before in the end nodding mutely as a servant passed by and offered to top up his glass. Janos moved around the table and took a seat next to Charles like he had been offered, but Charles didn’t attempt any one-sided conversation- he was too busy dwelling in thought.  
  
“ _Janos doesn’t talk_ …”

Charles couldn’t help but feel a mixture of relief for himself and empathy for Janos. What if that had been what Erik had expected of him? To just sit there quietly and look pretty, nothing more than a compliant little bedwarmer ready for when Erik needed him? Indeed, Charles had no real reason to assume that’s what Janos was, only that it was customary for Kings and Queens to have pleasure slaves, and though Emma had mocked the ‘gift’ that had been made of Charles, that did not mean that she hadn’t partaken in the trade. Why else would she be accompanied by someone who was not permitted to speak?  
  
Charles thought back over his own behaviour over the course of the evening- how he had been so chatty over dinner, regaling not just Erik but everyone else in attendance with stories and observations. Charles loved to talk to others and the alcohol had certainly gone a long way toward loosening his lips. Not once had Erik shown any sign of displeasure. Though Erik erred on the side of quiet listener, he had interjected, offered some of his own thoughts, and asked questions to elicit further conversation from Charles. This mirrored the discourse between them when they were in private and that, in Erik’s mind, Charles’ mouth seemed to be good for more than just satisfying the King’s sexual appetite.  
  
The pieces of who Erik was and who Charles was to him still did not fit in a way that made sense to Charles, but there was little he could do about that. As Erik and Emma re-entered the dining hall some time later Charles found himself gazing at the puzzle before himself. At times, Erik used Charles and at others cared for him, demeaned him then treated him as an equal, sought constant sexual gratification but also companionship.  
  
“Are you alright?” Erik asked once he was again by Charles’ side.  
  
As he had absolutely no idea how to answer that question, Charles dodged. “How could I not be? This is perhaps the finest banquet I have ever attended.” That much, at least, was true and Charles let it show through in the smile he gave Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no smut in this chapter. *gasp* We promise to remedy that in the next chapter, and the chapter after that, and the chapter after that... ahem.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could Charles' luck be about to change...?
> 
> It is time for another chapter, my dudes. Thanks as always for all of your support and wonderful comments- we loving hearing your thoughts on the story :)

 

 

Charles had not indulged in alcohol since he had arrived in Genosha and at that particular moment he could not remember why. As he and Erik returned to their bed chambers at the end of the evening he felt light- unburdened by all the things that were meant to be bothering him but that now seemed singularly unimportant. The last song the minstrels had played was still running through his mind and he hummed the tune, swaying to it as they moved down the corridor.  
  
There was a soft laugh behind him and Charles turned, well pirouetted, until he faced the source of the mirth - his King. “Do you enjoy dancing, Charles?”  
  
“Very much so.” To prove the point he continued to hum and sway, journeying farther down the hallway.  
  
“Then why did you not dance at the banquet? You had ample opportunity.”  
  
Charles shrugged and stopped at the doors to their private quarters. Was the answer not obvious? “You did not dance, Sire. I felt it inappropriate to dance without you.”  
  
Erik used his powers to unlock the door and usher them inside. When they were safely ensconced, Charles continued to move to his own music, not minding at all that Erik continued to look at him with poorly disguised humour. His countenance was so often serious or lustful, rarely bearing any other expression, and Charles felt this one rather suited him.  
  
Emboldened by the wine in his veins, Charles asked: “Why do you not dance?” He stepped closer to the King, offering his hand in an unmistakable invitation, and Erik looked at it as though it might injure him as the barest hint of a flush graced his cheeks. If Charles had blinked he might have missed that small moment of vulnerability, as schooled as Erik was in putting on a particular face for the world.  
  
“I am not skilled at dancing.”  
  
Charles couldn’t help but laugh, “I do not believe it for a moment. The masters you must have had at your disposal to teach you. Even someone with two left feet would have been schooled into decency! I will not believe it until you provide me with proof.” His hand still hovered between them in invitation.  
  
“Are you asking me to dance with you?”  
  
“Yes, my King.”  
  
There was a beat, a moment, where a small surge of adrenaline provided Charles with a rather more lucid moment. Was he being too bold? Too forward? But then Erik’s hand slid into his and pulled him close, assuaging the small spark of nerves. Lucidity be damned, this was the best Charles had felt since he arrived.  
  
“What dance would you like? A country dance?” Charles asked.  
  
Erik shook his head. He raised his free hand to tuck a lock of Charles’ hair behind his ear, before he let it drift lower, allowing it to rest on Charles’ hip. “I was thinking of something rather more intimate. Are you familiar with the Genoshan waltz?” Charles was, of course he was, as almost every form of waltz was a variation of it. Even if he could not quite remember the small differences between the Britannic and Genoshan versions, it hardly mattered.  
  
“I am.” Charles placed his free hand on Erik’s shoulder and then they were in the proper hold, if Erik were to lead, and Charles had no doubt he’d wish to. Erik stepped forward and they began to move across the considerable space of the bedroom that was not occupied by the bed, couches, or desk. As Charles had predicted, Erik’s movements were, while not masterful, certainly capable and nothing to be ashamed of. As in all things, the way he lead his dance partner was with the conviction of someone who knew his every command would be obeyed.  
  
The press of Erik’s hand at the small of his back, the strong line of his arm around Charles’ torso, and the firm, yet gentle, grasp of his hand all guided Charles with such surety it became effortless to follow. Charles gave himself easily to such a partner, trusting their confidence and capability, allowing his body to be moved where the King willed it. The room blurred pleasantly as they danced. He felt warm and languid, relaxed in a way that told him his body had been more tense than he had realised for some time. It felt good.  
  
So much so that Charles hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes and, because of it, it took several moments to recognise when Erik stopped moving. When Charles opened them, he found that Erik was gazing down at him, his expression as unreadable as ever.  
  
“My King?”  
  
“Why did you come here, Charles?”  
  
The question seemed to him to come out of nowhere and, moreover, struck him as rather odd and entirely unnecessary. What answer was there beyond the obvious? It made him wonder if he was somehow missing the point, but he answered regardless.

“A gift was owed. You saved Britannia from ruin. You saved my people from a grotesque fate at Shaw’s hands. There is nothing I love more than my country and my people. There is nothing I would not do for them, so I volunteered to be that gift. I will never not be grateful to you.”  
  
Though Charles had reminded himself of these very things on a daily basis, often more than once, for the first time they carried with them a certain warmth and weight. Though his situation was much less than personally ideal, the King had saved them all from a wretched existence and saying it aloud seemed to make Charles feel his gratitude in a way he had not since he’d left Britannia’s shores. Erik’s only reply was to continue to gaze down at Charles with a soft intensity that Charles continued to be unable to interpret.  
  
But then… perhaps he was looking at Erik’s question all wrong and Erik meant for him to _show_ that gratitude, to demonstrate why he was here. All night the King had accepted gifts of fealty and friendship from every noble and nation in attendance, most especially Britannia, and Charles supposed he was the last to do so. He began to drop to his knees but Erik caught him before he could get very far and shook his head.  
  
“No, Liebling- not tonight. At least, not yet.”  
  
Both surprised and puzzled, Charles cocked his head to one side. When did the King not wish to be serviced? Erik’s expression quickly shifted back to fond amusement. “Not that I do not appreciate the offer. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?”  
  
Those words had been uttered many times, usually in the throes of passion and laced with liberal amounts of lust, but this time sounded… almost thoughtful. Erik’s hand moved to cup Charles’ jawline more tenderly than any touch the King had yet offered. It demanded nothing of him as Erik’s thumb simply rubbed across his cheek, then his bottom lip, and with each stroke Charles’ found himself feeling increasingly unsteady on his feet.  
  
“So good.”  
  
Erik leaned forward until his lips were where his thumb had been, not demanding entrance, as they often did, but pressing and moving gently against his own. Charles found himself clutching at Erik’s broad shoulders, even more unsteady than before, as Erik’s mouth coaxed him open until Erik’s tongue could slide sensually against his. Erik’s hand moved to the back of his head, scratching lightly at his hairline. They continued this way for an indeterminable amount of time, until Charles heard a soft moan, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably his.  
  
Charles pulled back swiftly, breaking the kiss, and tried to pull back even further. It was impossible though, the way Erik’s arms were still wrapped around him and with the ever present hold Erik had on the cuffs snug against his forearms. At first, Erik said nothing, but the satisfied smile on his face spoke volumes.  
  
“Oh Liebling, how I’ve longed to hear that sound…”  
  
Erik leaned forward again, brushing his lips against Charles’ in a manner that almost had Charles pressing forward and seeking contact before he could stop himself. Erik’s lips continued on a path to Charles’ ear, the barely there touch making Charles’ skin tingle in their wake. His tongue flicked out against Charles’ earlobe before he said: “I intend to hear it again.”  
  
The words were said with such conviction that Charles trembled.  
  
It was a promise.  
  
Erik’s mouth remained where it was, gently licking and sucking at the sensitive spot where ear met neck, and it did nothing to alleviate the trembling that had Charles reflexively clutching at Erik’s tunic.

“This trembling, Charles…” Erik murmured. “Could it be with anticipation?”

Antici- _no_. The thought was swift and firm, but Charles’ body was not in a mood to listen and the trembling continued. Erik, mercifully, stepped back and Charles had to resist the urge to touch the spot where Erik’s mouth had just been, whether to rub away the sensations or covet them he was terrifyingly unsure. His hands fisted more tightly into the fabric laying across Erik’s chest in an attempt to keep them there.

The King’s hands had moved to the hem of Charles’ tunic. “While you looked stunning in this, it will rather get in the way of what I have planned.” Erik grinned as he lifted the hem and stared at Charles pointedly until he realised the King couldn’t get much further unless Charles lifted his arms to help. For a moment, Charles didn’t- not because he was refusing the King, he didn’t dare, but because he was surprised and off-balance. Erik had never undressed him. At each and every encounter he had watched as Charles undressed himself. At first, Charles had done it quickly, wanting to get it over with, but was learning to do it slowly, taking his time to reveal inch after inch of skin while Erik palmed himself and enjoyed the show.

“Charles?”

In response, Charles reluctantly released Erik’s tunic, lifted his arms so the King could effortlessly pull the silk over his head before tossing it aside in a way that only a man who could easily afford another could. The flimsy undershirt was discarded next and Charles was now bare from the waist up, save for the ever present cuffs. He thought, for certain, that his trousers would be next, but instead Erik stepped forward again, closing the small gap between them and resting his hands lightly against Charles’ exposed sides. Erik’s thumbs soothed circles into Charles’ skin as he bent his head forward, again pressing his lips to the sensitive spot beneath Charles’ ear, beginning to give the other side the same thorough treatment.

Charles couldn’t help but whimper, its meaning unknown even to him. The edges of his mind were blurred and piecing thoughts together through the fog became more and more challenging. One of the King’s hands did not remain at his side for long, but moved to his back and began to trail barely-there lines up and down the length of his spine. The twin assaults of sensation had Charles’ body shaking once more, had it pushing closer to Erik, had it craving… _more_. More than the simple, gentle caresses that were already making him shiver and shake.

 _No_.

“My- my King,” Charles breathed, trying futilely to collect himself. “This… this is not necessary. Surely, you wish me to-- ”

Erik’s head did not move from Charles’ neck as he cut Charles off and replied: “Do you presume to know my wishes? Do you believe that I would not seek what I want in this moment?”

The King kissed his neck one last time before pulling back and looking intently at Charles. With their gazes locked Erik began to press forward, forcing Charles to step back in time with him, lest he fall over. Each step seemed to punctuate the conviction in the words that followed. “This _is_ what I wish. To take pleasure in your skin, to kiss and lick and learn each place on your body that makes you shake and moan. To suck and scratch until your gorgeous pale skin is marked as mine.” Charles’ knees inevitably hit the edge of the bed and he fell back. “I will touch you, caress your body until your cock becomes full for me, Liebling, until you can do nothing but beg for my touch where it is truly needed.”

The words were an echo and Charles shuddered as he remembered the desire in Erik’s voice then, as deep and complete as it was now.

“Lay back for me.”

Charles clambered back, breathing heavily, unnerved as his body began to react to Erik’s intentions, Erik’s desire. As he laid back on the pillows at the head of the bed, Erik climbed on top of him, straddling his legs and framing Charles’ head with his forearms.

“You are beautiful, so beautiful. How could you possibly think I would not wish to see you in the throes of pleasure? Why would I not want to witness you, naked and laid out beneath me, moaning and writhing and shuddering under the influence of my hands and mouth and cock?”

Erik moved back until he could put his mouth on the second most sensitive place on Charles’ body. Charles bucked helplessly as Erik’s tongue laved for the first time across his nipple and drew another helpless moan from Charles’ lips.

“You see, Liebling.” Erik’s breath ghosted across Charles’ flesh as he spoke, causing Charles to shudder further. “I always keep my word.”

 _No_. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Erik turned his attention to Charles’ other nipple, his tongue running across it with a broad stroke that caused Charles to heat all over, his hands fisting in the sheets in the same manner they had been not long ago in the King’s shirt. He did not desire Erik. He had never desired Erik. Erik’s tongue did not let up, stroking again and again in a place Charles had not been touched in some time.

That… _of course_ , that was it. That _had_ to be it.

Erik’s fingers replaced his mouth. Pinching lightly at first, and then harder.

Oh, it had been too long. Weeks. Perhaps months. The stress and responsibility of dealing with a nation under threat from Shaw’s armies had been enough to quell any sexual appetite Charles had, and even when he had sought out pleasure it had only been as a quick means of release- more function than fulfillment. But a handful of nights spent mechanically stroking himself were nothing compared to this- to Erik, and the utter dedication of his hands and mouth.

“You’re so beautiful, Liebling… Your skin is flawless- as pale as unmarked canvas, save for the stunning array of freckles that adorn it. How I have longed to explore the map of your body, to conquer and to claim…”

Erik’s fingers continued to brush against Charles’ nipples, coaxing them into hard nubs as Charles turned his face to the side and bit down on his lower lip. The King’s mouth. Oh god, the warmth of his breath as he trailed his lips down Charles’ torso, sinful tongue darting out to caress Charles’ lower ribcage.

The wine. Of course, there was also the wine. It had to be the wine. It _had_ to be. Since arriving in Genosha this was the first time Charles had allowed himself to partake in the consumption of alcohol, and he had partaken of quite a lot. Clearly, this was part of the reason why he was now responding to Erik’s touch so readily. The starvation of his body, the befuddlement of his mind. It couldn’t be anything else. It _couldn’t_ be.

“So perfect…” Erik murmured, his fingers leaving Charles’ nipples to trail gently down Charles’ torso before sliding round Charles’ back to hold him, keeping Charles there as he mouthed and licked at the hollow of Charles’ belly- as if Charles were a particularly delicious goblet of wine and Erik were drinking his fill. Rather obscenely, Charles’ thoughts immediately presented an image of Erik in a similar guise, holding Charles in place as he licked and mouthed at the most sensitive parts of Charles, getting his hole wet and ready for Erik to slide his cock inside. A broken moan left Charles’ lips at the thought of it, and the resultant chuckle from Erik was unmistakable.

“Do you like this, Charles?” Erik murmured, whilst meanwhile Charles tried to remember at which point he had slid his hands into Erik’s hair, fisting handfuls of it whilst his body shook. “Do you like being pleasured by your King?”

Erik’s mouth moved lower, teeth grazing agonisingly along the strip of sensitive skin above the waistband of Charles’ trousers. How easy it would be for Erik to reach for the ties at Charles’ crotch, to unfasten them and slide his hand inside, to touch Charles through his underwear or perhaps to push it aside first, to withdraw Charles’ cock fully so he could do as he pleased. The only small mercy Charles had was that Erik had promised not to do so without permission, and Charles knew he was not ready for that yet.

 _Yet_. What an absurd notion. But as Erik’s tongue swiped slowly over the point of Charles’ hip in that moment Charles gasped, felt his cock twitch in recognition, and wondered how long it would be before ‘yet' became ‘now'.

“I can’t…” Charles whimpered- not ‘no’, but as close as he could muster in that moment. “It’s too much.”

Erik’s hands slid down Charles’ back to grasp firmly at his arse, cupping Charles’ buttocks as Erik withdrew slightly. As soon as Erik lifted his head Charles couldn’t help but look down, groaning helplessly at the sight of Erik- at the King of Genosha lying there, his face flushed and his lips moist with saliva, his normally ordered hair falling in his face. Erik’s eyes were focused down on the bulge beginning to form at Charles’ crotch, but after a moment he looked up and Charles’ breath caught at how dark Erik’s eyes were- pupils blown and drowning out his irises. Internally, Charles cursed. He cursed at the King for looking like every sexual fantasy he had ever had come to life. He cursed at his body for reacting treacherously to what was before him.

“Are you quite certain Charles? I wish nothing more than to make you feel every bit as good as you have made me feel.”

The King released Charles’ arse and reached for the string that held Charles’ trousers in place. A gentle tug to release the ties and they gave way, loosening the waist of the trousers so that they could be pulled down, and so the King did just that- sliding them leisurely down his thighs and past his ankles. True to his word Erik’s fingers did not so much as brush against the evidence of Charles’ arousal, but free from the confines of his trousers it became more prominent, pushing obscenely against his undergarments.

There was no denying it. Charles was hard. Hard for Erik. Hard for his King. Just like Erik had warned, or perhaps- promised.

Erik gently pushed Charles’ knees apart and settled himself between them comfortably, as if the position of suggested submission came as naturally to him as sitting in a throne did. But though there was no mistaking the implication in Erik’s stance- the clear intent to bring pleasure to Charles- the King still retained all the power. The change in position left Charles feeling all the more exposed, though he was still technically covered, and Charles couldn’t help the resultant shiver that ran through his body as he lay there.

Erik leaned down once more and pressed his lips just above the waistband of Charles’ trousers, tongue flicking out to taste Charles’ skin once again. Starting at Charles’ hip he teased along that edge, nipping and licking until he reached the base of Charles’ abdomen, just above…

Charles shut his eyes tight as Erik began to suck on a patch of skin there. He could not look- even one glance had been nearly too much. He could not bear to see the King of Genosha, one of the most powerful men in the known world, in such a position, between his legs, looking as if he was- he was…

A strangled sound escaped Charles’ throat. Erik sucked harder at the same patch of skin.

Desire pooled, making him want, making him _need_.

It would be easy, so easy, to say yes, to let this almost farcical pantomime become a reality. The muscles of Charles’ abdomen quivered in response to the King’s onslaught.  He found his hands were back in Erik’s hair and he was overcome. If he pushed the King’s head just a bit further down…

 _No_.

“Sire… please. I- I ...”

Whether or not he had read the intent in Charles’ words, mercifully, the King’s mouth stopped.

“Look at me, Liebling.”

Charles forced his eyes back open, forced himself to look down at Erik, who looked no less like sin than he had before. Charles felt like he could read everything Erik wanted to do in the darkness of his eyes. How did he _do_ that? Only when their gazes had fully locked did Erik hook his fingers into the waistband of Charles’ undergarments before beginning to slowly pull them down. Charles’ eyes immediately flicked away, not wanting to see Erik see him like this. Certainly, the King had looked upon his naked body every day since that first morning, but this? This was different.

“No.” Erik’s response was swift and unsurprising. “Look at me.”

Charles forced his eyes back down, unable to do anything but obey. The band slipped lower and lower until Charles’ aching cock was revealed in full- erect and pressed against his stomach.

“ _Gott_.” Erik’s gaze left his and the King’s eyes took their fill. “How I want to touch you. How I want to put my mouth upon you. How I long to know the taste of you on my tongue. I could suck you until you are moaning and writhing and begging me to let you come.”

 _Fuck_.

Charles was quite certain no one who had shared his bed had ever looked at him as the King did now, talked to him as the King did now- as though he were the most desirable person to ever share his bed, as though there were no one in the known lands that the King wanted more. There was no way it could be true, and yet somehow Charles felt it- surely and absolutely.

The King’s gaze flicked back up to meet Charles’ eyes. “Will you allow me?”

Charles shuddered. To be asked, to have it be his choice… Though the King had promised on that first morning there was no reason he should keep that vow. Charles was panting, squirming like the whore he did not want to be, and he knew that the King could easily take it as tacit permission to do as he desired, but he did not. This was one of the few things Charles had left, one of the few things still in his control, no matter how out of control his body now was...

The words came out choked, strangled, hardly convincing but no less true. “No.”

Charles expected, at the very least, to see disappointment, and at the very worst- anger. Neither emotion visibly graced Erik’s features as he took in Charles’ refusal, his eyes locked unwaveringly on Charles- no less lustful than before, but considered nonetheless. The moment stretched and Charles realised he was holding his breath.

“As you wish.”

Charles exhaled as Erik sat back on his heels and pulled his tunic and undershirt up and over his head in one fluid motion.

“I am a patient man. You are hard for me now, and you will be again.”

Again- that same promise. That same assurance and certainty that made Charles feel as if he was hurtling towards some unavoidable fate; one that seemed now more appealing than the day previous, whether Charles wanted it to or not.

Erik undid his trousers and made swift work of discarding them along with his undergarments, and immediately Charles couldn’t help but look down at the evident sign of Erik’s arousal. Though it was nothing new to Charles the sight of Erik’s cock on this occasion seemed somehow staggering, because Charles knew that all of it- every _achingly_ hard inch- had been brought about by little more than Charles’ own nakedness, his own moans, his own pleasure. Clearly, it was something Erik was still dwelling on too.

“I will better know the sounds of your pleasure, the way you moan as I work you to completion. I will hear all of it, Charles. I will swallow every moan from your gaping mouth. You will give yourself to me and I will take you, wholly and completely.”

Erik leaned over Charles, bracing himself with one hand, the other moving down to his own hardness.

“Even now you’ve barely been able to contain yourself. You’re starving. Look at the way you’ve bitten your lip. You will be so loud for me, won’t you?”

Erik was stroking himself. Charles could only see the motion in his periphery, as his eyes were now on Erik’s, but it was unmistakable.

“That’s good, Liebling. I like loud…”

Erik’s hand sped up, his words interrupted by his own moans, his own pleasure. His eyelids fluttered for a moment before he looked down.

“Look at your gorgeous cock. So hard and full for me. So perfect.”

The King’s voice had become ragged, almost unrecognisable. The hand beside Charles’ shoulder tensed, gripping the sheets below it. His breath came out in harsh grunts and pants, no longer capable of such speech.

“P- _perfekt_.”

Erik came.

Charles’ chest and neck were quickly covered in Erik’s come as he shuddered through his climax. As Charles watched, all he could think was that he was not the cause of it on this occasion- at least not directly. He had not touched Erik, had not put his mouth on Erik, had not stimulated Erik in any way. Erik had come because he had kissed, touched, and looked at Charles. The feeling of power such realisation brought about was overwhelming.

As Erik came back to himself he leaned forward and claimed a kiss from Charles’ mouth- long, slow, and deep. When he was satisfied he pulled back only slightly, so that he could murmur something against Charles’ lips.

“I could have taken such good care of you, Liebling. Would it not be better if you enjoyed my touch? If you took pleasure in my bed?”

Those words were the last thing spoken between them for the rest of the night, and the question continued to run through Charles’ lust and wine addled mind as they later cleaned themselves off with washcloths, as the King drifted off to sleep, as Charles stared at the filmy curtains fluttering in the breeze, as his own sleep did not come.

_Would it?_

 

Charles had always had a busy mind. At one point, Charles had blamed such a thing on his telepathy- sure that the errant thoughts running through his head could be attributed to the perception of far too many minds nearby- but it was never really the case. Charles had always been too smart, too inquisitive, too damn curious to allow his mind to be anything less than a constant whirl of thought and contemplation. Further, when he used shielding to restrict his telepathy, it was clear that the controlled kind of chaos that was his psyche still remained.

Raven had once said that Charles’ mind reminded her of a storm, as had been her impression on the few unfortunate occasions when they were very young and Charles’ control had slipped, and he had inadvertently joined with her telepathically. It hadn’t taken long for Raven to insist that Charles stay out of her mind at all times, making Charles wonder what it was about the storm of his mind that troubled her so, when he himself had always been fond of such phenomenon. In the end, Charles could not blame Raven for her choice of wording- after all, she was the one who always ran squealing into Charles’ room any time the sky darkened, leaping into Charles’ bed and cowering at the sound of rolling thunder, whilst Charles himself stood beside whatever open window he could find, eagerly taking in nature’s most incredible display of power.

That was exactly what Charles was doing late one evening, unable to sleep, and awaiting Erik’s return. A great storm was brewing, sending townsfolk scurrying to their homes as Charles watched from the balcony of the King’s bedroom- thinking of Raven, and wondering if the same storm might eventually touch Britannia’s shores. Being alone late at night gave far too much license for Charles’ thoughts to roll in along with the clouds. As he stood there waiting for the storm, he couldn’t help reflecting on his previous life, his former home, and his beloved sister. Of course, that was not the only thing Charles contemplated, because as always King Erik took center stage in Charles’ thoughts- whether Charles wanted him to or not...

Ever since the banquet four days previously, Charles had felt the dynamic of his involvement with Erik changing. It was more than just the looks Erik gave him- the knowing, confident glances that told Charles just how sure the King was that Charles would, as promised, one day give himself to Erik entirely. Erik had always insisted that Charles would give in, but now he had seen evidence of such, and there was no denying it. And, really, that was the change right there- in Charles, not Erik, who now spent every waking moment trying not to think about what had transpired, but finding his thoughts drawn irrevocably back to that night again and again.

On the surface, each day their routine remained the same- Charles and Erik would awaken, Charles would fulfill his duties, they would have breakfast together, they would spend several hours apart as the King saw to his many responsibilities and Charles busied himself with reading, exploring the castle, the market, sometimes talking to Marie, and then as the night drew in Charles and Erik would have dinner, Charles would fulfill his duties again, and they would both retire to bed. Though the routine had not changed, Charles knew that he had. It would have been so convenient to blame the wine, but Charles was too smart, too bloody self-aware, and therefore incapable of lying to himself.

Thunder rumbled, still far off- a promise of the storm to come, the rain still light but gaining momentum.

Before, Charles’ focus had been on enduring, on coming to view sexual acts as nothing more than a task to undertake, no more or less troubling than any other job someone might perform- cooking a meal, cleaning a house, tending a garden. Though he hardly believed that he would ever be completely successful in such an endeavour, it had been getting easier by increments- small increments, but easier nonetheless.

Now, Charles’ initial trepidation was back in full, if not for different reasons- he no longer trusted his own body. Would it react again? Would the King’s hands, the King’s mouth, and the King’s words fill his cock, making him shake once more with desperate need? Now, each time they were together in bed Charles held his breath, not knowing if the King would again desire Charles’ pleasure more than his own.

As yet, he had not.

As yet, Charles’ body had remained unaroused.

But Charles was no fool. The King would try again- and soon.

The rain came still harder. The sound of the thunder grew louder. Charles had been watching the growing storm from behind the shelter of the glass panelled doors that led to the spacious balcony. Now, he stepped forward, turning the knob, and walked out into the storm.

Most of all, Charles was ashamed.  

The wine had done nothing to dull his memory. He remembered every caress, every kiss, every swipe of Erik’s tongue, every nip of his teeth, every filthy promise uttered in the King’s gravelly Genoshan voice. But these were not the memories that kept him up at night, that came to him at random intervals throughout the day to plague his thoughts, that made him loathe the part of himself that was weak. It was the memory of his reactions- every moan he had uttered, every panting breath that had left his mouth, every shudder that had passed through his body, every time he had gripped Erik’s hair, every moment he had wanted so badly to give in. He choked on them all.

Charles was soaked through within seconds, the thin material of his sleepwear no match for the now torrential rain. It came down not in drops but sheets, the heavens emptying themselves upon the earth. A lightning strike scorched a path to the ground in the forest to his left, unnaturally illuminating the night. When the clap of thunder came, it was mere seconds behind the lightning. It crashed against Charles’ eardrums and the the castle shook.

Charles did not care. Not about the thunder or the lightning. He lost himself in the earth’s cleansing ritual, letting the rain cascade down upon his body as though it could wash away the shame. He went out to the very edge, grasping the ornate wrought-iron rail where the balcony protruded enough that there was no protection from the wind, but then Charles had no wish to be protected. Whipping around him, the gales of wind tangled his hair and threw it in his face. Charles shut his eyes and let his other senses take over. The anarchy of driving rain, rushing wind, and roaring thunder assaulted him and carried him away from the castle, for a time.

There was a noise behind him, separate from the anarchy, easily disregarded without conscious thought, but the noise became louder, his forearms became warmer, and then—

“ _Charles_!”

He was wrenched back to the present by the King, who had turned him around and was gripping him bruisingly by the shoulders.

“Scheiße! What in God’s name are you doing out here?” Erik’s eyes flicked unbelievingly down Charles’ drenched form. Charles may as well have been naked, the way his white bedclothes clung to him like a second skin, made sheer by the water, but there was no lust in the King’s eyes at the sight- only horror. “You will catch your death if the lightning does not claim you first! What are you-- what must you be thinking?”

Charles gave no resistance as he was hauled off the balcony and back into the warmth of the King’s bed chambers. He could only stare helplessly back at Erik as the King’s words faded to a low murmur, as the anger evident in his creased brow softened into something else. The grip Erik maintained on Charles’ upper arms was still vice-like in its intensity, bringing heat to Charles’ otherwise numb body, and as Erik looked back up to meet Charles’ eyes Charles found he could see a similar contrast written within the colour of Erik’s irises. The fire remained- pure fury at Charles’ thoughtless actions- but as the storm continued to rage outside Charles started to see something else too, something he could not quite place.

“Dummkopf…” Erik muttered, though this time with decidedly less heat.

Though he seemed reluctant to do so, Erik let go of Charles’ arms and moved away briefly, only going as far as was needed to reach a large, thick blanket that was draped over a nearby armchair, retrieving it and carrying it with him as he walked back, his eyes focused on Charles’ soaked form. When Erik reached Charles once more he spread open the large throw and wrapped it quickly around Charles’ body, and as Erik briefly glanced up to take in Charles’ face, Charles saw it again.

Over the past several weeks, Charles felt like he had seen every possible shade of colour in Erik’s eyes, every emotion described by the intensity of his expression, but now there was something new. Without studying it more carefully Charles could not name it exactly, but he knew what the look suggested- some kind of concern.

Not that the King’s concern likely meant much of anything. Was he worried his daily source of sexual gratification might be down for the count if Charles fell ill? That he would need to search elsewhere? As yet there was no indication that Erik had taken any other sexual partners since Charles had arrived, but if Charles were unable to perform his duties...

After the blanket was in place, Erik wasted no time in vigorously rubbing his hands against Charles’ upper arms to warm him, his eyes focused on the task in hand with the same kind of intensity Charles now knew was reserved for anything that was meaningfully important to the King. A distant, almost separate part of himself thought that it was strange really- the King had always been so determined to have Charles look at him at all times, but now it felt as though he was actively being avoidant. Like the storm that had thrown down deluges of rainwater to swamp the lands something had changed- old things washed away with something unknowing to take their place.

“Come now, let’s get you into a hot shower before I need to send for a healer. I have seen many fall ill from much less,” Erik said, his voice firm and leaving little room for argument.

Yet… Charles somehow found his voice, even if it came out meek and quiet, almost pleading in its tone.

“But… but the storm…”

Erik looked up to meet Charles’ gaze, his brows drawing together in confusion and clear annoyance at even the slightest delay. “What about the storm?”

“Well, it’s not over… I- I would like to continue to watch it, if you would allow such a thing.”

“Charles…” Erik replied, jaw clenching. “There is not a chance in any hell that I will permit you to step out onto that balcony once more…”

“No, no- I realise that. However, we could easily stay in here instead, and watch through the open doors.”

Erik’s expression visibly softened, though Charles could not fathom why, and Erik’s only response was a slight incline of his head and Charles turned around to take in the sight of the storm once more. After a moment, Erik stepped close behind Charles, the warmth of his body so appealing on the basest level that Charles could not help but lean his shivering body into it. As they stood there watching the storm together Erik continued to rub the blanket against Charles’ arms and chest and head, his motions now less frantic, less vigorous and he took his time to ensure that every inch of Charles was as dry as it could possibly be. When he was satisfied, Erik discarded the sopping blanket and retrieved another. Expecting Erik to wrap it about him as he had before, Charles was surprised to find that Erik stepped up behind him first and wrapped the blanket around them both, cocooning Charles in the twin warmths of the woolen material and Erik’s body. There was the sound of a soft sigh as Erik wrapped his arms around Charles’ chest, resting his face against Charles’ damp hair, holding him close.

The storm took some time to pass, but throughout it Erik did not protest, did not try to pull Charles away. Despite the fact that their bodies were pressed intimately together the King’s hands did not wander, he did not turn Charles around in the confines of their cocoon and demand anything, he simply… held him, and though it was relaxing- peaceful even- it did nothing to restore Charles’ sense of internal balance. When the downpour of rain faded into small drops that splashed sparsely against the stone floor of the balcony, Erik unwound his arms and the blanket from Charles’ body, before taking Charles’ hand and leading him towards the bathroom.

The lateness of the hour certainly contributed towards the weariness Charles felt, and he was completely compliant as Erik stripped him of his drenched clothing before doing the same with his own, and then placed one large hand on Charles’ shoulder to steer him into the shower. The warm water cascaded down upon Charles’ body and Charles succumbed to the comfort of it, allowing the water to relieve him of some of the tension he still felt- just like he’d hoped to achieve when he’d stood in the heart of the storm. In truth Charles felt so drained it took him a long moment to realise that there was one reason why a shower might not be the best way to alleviate his remaining stress, only occurring to him as he felt Erik’s fingers slide into his hair.

_Oh fuck..._

It was the first time Charles had ever showered with Erik.

Previously, showers had been something Charles was permitted to do alone- a solitary activity that enabled Charles to cleanse himself, in both body and mind, after fulfilling his duties. There was perhaps a good reason why Charles had always waited his turn to bathe and been grateful that Erik had allowed him such a thing, and very quickly Charles realised what that was.

“Come here…”

At the gentle purr of Erik’s voice Charles turned around, gazing up helplessly as Erik continued to run his fingers through Charles’ hair- washing it, Charles realised, though he could not remember seeing Erik reach for the soap. There was a look of concentration on Erik’s face as he worked, fingers kneading Charles’ scalp, and though it was different to the usual primal looks Erik wore apparently it still meant the same thing…

Charles inhaled a shaky breath as he felt it, as he looked down to regard the sight of the King’s impressive member, slowly rising to full hardness. Charles could not imagine what was so remarkable about the sight of himself at that moment, particularly as he felt rather like a drowned mouse, but nevertheless the King was once again pleased with what he saw and not shy about showing it.

“Liebling…” Erik said softly, his hands sliding down to caress Charles’ chest and shoulders instead. “Your skin is so soft… You are so beautiful…”

Erik had always said as much and yet Charles still had a hard time believing it. There was no denying the evidence though, and what was staggering to Charles was just how _good_ the realisation suddenly made him feel. He was wanted, desired, even now after his thoughtless actions in the storm. The King of Genosha was someone who countless men and women had fantasised about bedding, and yet Charles was somehow the one who had him. Erik could have kept a harem of whores, companions, favourites- common folk and nobility alike, but he did not, there was only him- only Charles. There was a power in Charles’ position, and that wasn’t the only thing Charles felt.

As Charles stood there he cast his gaze down the King’s body, as the King was doing with him, regarding the strong shoulders, slim waist, and improbable length that no doubt had suitors clamouring for Erik’s attention. Erik was objectively and undeniably gorgeous- his skin marked with the telltale signs of battle but no less beautiful, his body finely muscled and lithe in all the right places. For the first time, Charles found himself regarding Erik as just a man- a stunning specimen to behold, and not someone who kept Charles in virtual servitude. Viewing Erik as such freed something within him, cast off the metaphorical chains that bound him to submission, and unleashed something else…

“ _Oh_ …”

The small murmur left Charles’ lips and instantly he wished he could take it back, wished he could undo the spell cast over his thoughts that had allowed him to regard Erik differently. Because the truth of the matter was that Charles was in the shower with a very attractive man, and consequently his cock was taking notice and quickly standing to attention- rising up in the space between them. Instantly, Charles panicked, his body writhing as he attempted to turn away to hide his arousal; a ridiculous and futile move in the end as Erik’s hands clamped down on Charles’ shoulders and he knew Erik had seen it.

Charles swallowed hard, closing his eyes, feeling a deep blush stain his cheeks.

From Erik there was a low murmuring sound, and then he pushed gently against Charles’ shoulders, backing Charles up so that he became pressed up against the wall of the shower.

“Liebling… See how much you want me? See how much you crave my touch? I could make you feel _so_ _good_ if you gave in to me… Are you not ready to receive the pleasure I so desperately wish to give?”

Charles couldn’t answer, could do little more than breathe frantically, feeling like the heat and steam of the shower was robbing him of oxygen when really he knew it was Erik’s words that had stolen his breath. Erik moved closer and Charles remained frozen, knowing that his body was laid out for Erik to regard and that there was no denying the things he had been unable to even deny to himself. He _wanted_ Erik, or at least his body did, and Erik knew it.

“Charles…” Erik whispered, the sound something like a question.

When the answer came it was intended to be as firm as ever, but there was no denying the way Charles’ voice wavered.

“No… my King…”

Charles might have expected annoyance from Erik at that but instead there was only a quiet chuckle, and Charles felt Erik move closer as he replied: “Very well… I shall have to make do with a simple kiss then.”

Instantly, Charles’ eyes flew open just in time to see the devilish look on Erik’s face- one that told Charles there was no way Erik would be leaving this encounter unsatisfied. Consequently, it came as no surprise when the ‘simple kiss’ turned out to be something else entirely- resulting in Erik’s lips and tongue laying claim to Charles’ mouth as he pinned Charles up against the wall, his hands holding Charles on the upper arms. Erik had promised not to touch Charles ‘there' unless Charles asked for it and he remained true to his word, but Charles quickly came to realise that, just because Erik’s hands had kept their promise, it did not mean the rest of his body would…

Charles openly gasped into Erik’s mouth as he felt Erik’s hard cock brush against his own, prompting an electrifying feeling to skitter up the length of Charles’ spine. As they continued to kiss Erik’s movements became more determined, and it was clearly no accident the way his hips rolled from time-to-time, making his cock rub against Charles’ own with tantalising slowness. It had been far too long since Charles had experienced release and as such he was deathly afraid of what little stimulation it would take to get him off, and he quickly realised he would need to do something in order to preserve his dignity- or whatever semblance of it there was left.

A guttural moan left Erik’s lips as Charles reached down into the space between them, grasping Erik’s cock and starting to stroke it firmly- all the while ensuring it did not come into contact with his own. It was the only way to take control of the situation and so Charles did exactly that by keeping up his rhythm on Erik’s cock, at the same time moving into kiss Erik’s neck in the way he knew Erik liked. There were a few mumbled utterances from Erik that could have been a protest but in the end such words were lost, and in the moment when Erik shuddered and came Charles couldn’t help biting down on Erik’s neck, the action being both a release of tension and an attempt to keep something else contained.

“Charles…” Erik groaned as he came down from orgasm, the shivery tremors of his body evident where he was pressed up against Charles. “Whilst I appreciate your enthusiasm, do not think you can use your many skills to mask your own desires forever…”

In that respect, Charles had no such illusions.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for- In Service of the King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804474) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




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